


Pride & Prejudice & Sherlock

by MorrganGrey



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 19th Century, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe 19th century, Crossover, Elizabeth!John, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Humour, Jane Austen - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Love/Hate, M/M, Mr.Bingley!Victor Trevor, Mr.Darcy!Sherlock, Mr.Wickham!Sebastian Moran, Ms.Bingley!Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Slash, pocket universe, pride & prejudice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorrganGrey/pseuds/MorrganGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this universally loved Masterpiece a tale is told of a young country squire of no great means faced with the daunting task of securing husbands for his four sisters, but what of his own future? Is young Dr. John Watson doomed to live the life of a Confirmed Bachelor? Or can Love melt the proud heart of Mr. Sherlock Holmes newly come to Netherfield Park?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication  
> To Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who gave me the man I fell in-love with…and fell in-love with and fell in-love with and fell in-love with if you examine my dating record. And to Miss Jane Austen who taught me about Love's expression, to you both I give my most heartfelt apologies. I know that you would understand that we only tease because we love and forgive this little scribbling. And to Lisa in Sweden for the inspiration and for being a generous ear. Thank you my friend.
> 
> Warning: This author is an Out and Proud producer of "Gay Propaganda." The following contains subject matter of the following Sensitive nature including but not limited to; homosexual flirting, heterosexual flirting, sexually suggestive themes, strong language, and the idea that all Love should be celebrated and nutured where ever it is found. If your country of residence or your parents disapprove of/will jail you/will ground you for life if you are caught reading this subject matter you may want to think twice before printing it and leaving it around the house.
> 
> Disclaimer or Please don't Sue me: I own nothing. All rights belong to their rightful Owners. I am making no profit from this work and never intend to. If this work is ever sold it will not be by me and will be without my Permission. This Parody was written in the spirit of gentle good humor and exclusively for the entertainment of myself and others. It is also protected by the U.S. Fair Use Code, the full details of which you may read here --->http://centerforsocialmedia.org/fair-use/related-materials/codes/code-best-practices-fair-use-poetry
> 
> © Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen  
> © Sherlock Holmes + all related characters - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  
> © BBC Sherlock + all related characters - Mark Gatiss/Steven Moffat & The BBC  
> © Pride and Prejudice (1995) - Andrew Davies & The BBC

 

  
[Cover](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/Pride-and-Prejudice-and-Sherlock-Cover-295879533) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)

[On Tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

On a damp Sunday in September, Dr. John Watson, lately of the British Army, walked his mother and sisters home from church through the green English countryside. His mother took his arm and nearly shouted with enthusiasm,

"My dear John, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last!"

John jumped a little, startled by this sudden ejaculation which frightened a flock of birds from the trees and replied that he had not.

"But it is, it is!" Cried she; "for Mrs. Long has just been there and told me all about it!"

John made no answer but attempted to loosen his arm from her viselike grip, which she now squeezed with a steely strength that belied her appearance of frailness and frequent complaints of ill health, without success.

"Why, do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his mother impatiently, giving his bruised arm a little shake causing him to wince.

"You want to tell me and I have no objection to hearing it" replied John, giving up on his escape. That was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week!"

"What is his name?" sighed John, sensing what was about to come next.

"Mr. Trevor." "He is single I suppose" he gave his sister Jane a long suffering look over his shoulder but she merely giggled at his discomfort and pretended to be suddenly interested in Lydia's prattling about hats.

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for the girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them?" said John knowing full well what she would say but hoping to stave off the inevitable.

"My dear John," complained his mother, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

"Of course," said John in mock seriousness "for it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, Must be in want of a wife." her son frowned facetiously.

"Oh! You…" began his mother, taking the bait and about to let loose with some really energetic expression of outrage, which happily they never had to hear as the walking party had just now arrived at the garden gate and with the pretense of opening the gate for his mother, John was released from her grip and the conversation.

 

 

*.*.*

 

The matter was dropped in a flurry of hats and coats and the removal of mud soaked shoes and John situated himself comfortably by the fire with a book, while Jane and Mary took up their embroidery and Lydia and Kitty squabbled in a corner and sipped tea, but just as he was relaxing into the warmth of his easy escape, Mrs. Watson began again,

"But, my dear, you Must indeed go and see Mr. Trevor when he comes into the neighborhood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you" said John, sliding down into his chair to hide from the conversation behind the cover of his book.

"But consider your sisters! Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them! Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you Must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not" said Mrs. Watson with a flounce. She began to rearrange the lace cuffs of her dress with an irritated fastidiousness.

"You are over-scrupulous Mother, surely" said John tolerantly, "I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves." Mrs. Watson gave a little shriek of outrage at the thought. John continued to tease her, "I dare say Mr. Trevor will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls. They have none of them much to recommend them, they are all silly and ignorant like other girls." He glanced at Jane and saw the hurt in her blue-green eyes and thought perhaps he gone too far in his teasing and moved swiftly to soften his words; "But Jane has something more of quickness than her sisters." He said hastily. Jane smiled gently in forgiveness.

"Oh John, how can you abuse your own sisters in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves." With an exaggerated sniffle, his mother pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and began to dab at her eyes dramatically. John swallowed a chuckle,

"You mistake me, Mum-ma. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least." He put aside his book and patted her shoulder consolingly.

"Ah, you do not know what I suffer." Said Mrs. Watson, waving her hanky like a flag in her distress.

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood." Smiled John good naturedly and leaned over his mother to give her a hug. Mrs. Watson would not be so easily put off and waved away her son's affections,

"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them." She sniffed loudly.

"Depend upon it, Mum-ma, that when there are twenty, I shall visit them all." He looked over at Jane, his eyes sparkling with good humor, she bit her lips to keep from laughing at her older brother's teasing. He grinned at her impishly. Mrs. Watson, lost in her own melodramatics, did not notice the exchange between her two eldest offspring but covered her face with her hankerchief.

 

 

 

*.*.*

 

Mrs. Watson, having decided that she was having an attack of "nerves," brought on by her oldest child's stubborn and hard hearted behavior, retired for the evening early and insisted that Kitty and Lydia and Mary do the same. John was left alone in the sitting room with his book and Jane and much wished for quiet. With a happy sigh, he once again opened his book and attempted to find his place in it which had been lost with his mother's talk of eligible young men and four thousand a year. He did not get far. Jane made a stitch or two in her embroidery and the fire popped audibly, then she made her move, Not lifting her eyes from her embroidered flowers she began,

"If I could love a man who would love me well enough to take me for a mere fifty pounds a year I would be well pleased." John smiled behind his book,

"Such a man could surely not be sensible and I could never give my favorite sister away to a man who was out of his wits" he joked.

"John, be serious," said Jane, stopping mid stitch and looking earnestly over at her brother,"Beggars you know, cannot be Choosers."

"We are not so very poor, Jane" said John gently, "Not so poor that I would sell you to the first suitor that came tapping at our door, four thousand a year be damned" and snapped his book shut for emphasis. Jane smiled at her brother's affection for her and chose to overlook his coarse way of expressing it.

"One of us at least will have to marry very Well. You cannot support four sisters and Mum-ma alone nor should you be expected to. And with four dowries to provide, I'm afraid we have little but our Charms to recommend us." Jane put down her embroidery and sat soberly with this thought. John smiled and tried to flatter her out of her fearful thoughts,

"And since you are five times as pretty as our sisters and have the sweetest disposition, you are afraid the task will fall on you." Jane laughed at this,

"You are teasing me, as always."

"Not a bit" said John "You are best of us all and you are right, I cannot keep you an Old Maid forever. Sadly, reluctantly, I admit you must marry." Jane smiled.

"Not old, surely, not at twenty two" she teased her brother, then more seriously "I would wish, I mean, I should so much like, to marry for Love."

"And so you shall, I shall never force you to marry a man you do not love, whatever Mother's opinion of him may be" said John reassuringly, then unable to resist adding jokingly "Only do try to fall in love with a man of Good Fortune, for Mother's sake." Jane smiled at this and feeling comforted, took back up her embroidery hoop.

"Well, I shall try to please you" she said in mock seriousness. John grinned and reopened his book,"The Art of Zombie Warfare; Modern Techniques for Modern Times by Miss Elizabeth Bennet" but had only just found his place when Jane interrupted again, "And you John, will you always be alone? Shall you become, what is it they call it? A Confirmed Bachelor?" John nearly dropped his book in surprise, Jane had never asked about his romantic life before. To cover his embarrassment he replied half- jokingly, half- not,

"Oh, I am determined that nothing but the very deepest Love will induce me into matrimony--- And so I shall die a Confirmed Bachelor, grow a fine mustache and grow fat---And bounce your ten grandchildren on my knee" he finished with a laugh.

"John, I'm serious" said Jane earnestly.

"So am I" replied John, dropping all traces of mockery in his voice and gazing at his sister with a faint sadness in his eyes.

"Charlotte…" she began.

"Is a friend" John finished firmly for her. "Jane—you know—How I Am."

"I do not think she would mind."

"Well I would" said John, emphasizing the last word. "I could never do that to Charlotte. A marriage where either partner cannot love or respect the other cannot be agreeable to either partner."

"No" said Jane and fell silent, pulling a few stitches and gazing into the fire. "Still, I should like to see you married" she said at last.

"Well" smiled John wistfully, "Perhaps they shall change the laws and you shall have your wish."

"I duly hope so, for you are too fine a brother, too fine a man to die a Confirmed Bachelor" she smiled fondly at her brother and he at her. Then he kissed the top of her head and took his book to bed.

 

 

*.*.*

 

A few days later, on bright and clear October afternoon, John peeked over his newspaper at Jane, who was re-trimming a hat and remarked,

"I do hope Mr. Trevor will like it, Jane."

"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Trevor likes," said her mother resentfully, "since we are not to visit."

"But you forget, Mum-ma," said Jane, "that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long promised to introduce him."

"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her" wailed Mrs. Watson and not without a little self-pity.

"No more have I," said John pleasantly; "and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you." His mother did not deign to make any reply, but, unable to contain herself, began scolding Kitty.

"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven's sake! Have a little compassion for my poor nerves. You tear them to pieces!" she complained impatiently.

"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," chuckled John; "she times them ill."

"I do not cough for my own amusement," replied Kitty fretfully.

"When is the next ball to be, John?"

"Tomorrow fortnight" said John with pretended carelessness behind his newspaper, enjoying drawing out his little joke as long as possible.

"Aye, so it is," cried her mother, "and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself."

"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Trevor to her." John's eyes danced at Jane whose frown asked him what he was up to.

"Impossible, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?" lamented his mother as if to have such a hard hearted and selfish son was the worst pain in the world. John, feeling a little a guilty for teasing his mother so, came out with the truth.

"I honor your circumspection Mother. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her daughters must stand their chance; and, therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself." The girls stared at their brother but Mrs. Watson said only,

"Nonsense, nonsense! I am sick to death of Mr. Trevor," cried his mother.

"I am sorry to hear that" said John with exaggerated dismay, "But why did not you tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now." And with a dramatic, regretful sigh, he lifted his newspaper and waited for the gravity of his words to fall on his mother's ears. The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Watson perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

"How good it was in you, my dear John! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your sisters too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a word about it till now."

"Now Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose," said John patting her shoulder and as he spoke he left the room to beat a hasty retreat to his study where he could hide from the squeals and shrieks of his overexcited sisters who even now jumped up and down with their delight. The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon John would return Mr. Trevor's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

 

 

*.*.*

 

Not all Mrs. Watson, however, with the assistance of her four daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her son any satisfactory description of Mr. Trevor. They attacked him in various ways--with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their friend and neighbor, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favorable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Trevor's heart were entertained.

"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield," said Mrs. Watson to her son as they rode in the carriage to the ball, "and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for."

"I would wish for fewer ladies" grumbled Kitty, rearranging her skirts to keep Lydia from crushing them, "For I have heard that he brings with him twelve ladies and only seven gentlemen."

"No!" said Lydia, pinching Kitty in punishment for jostling her "I have heard it was six ladies and one gentlemen."

"Either way it is too many ladies" said Kitty, giving Lydia a well-placed kick in the ankle in return for the pinch. John rolled his eyes at his sisters' childish behavior and prayed he would survive the evening. Visions of his nose being tickled by the feathers of ladies' hair ornaments while trying, in vain, to avoid being kicked in the shin of his wounded leg by all the dozens of young ladies dragged to the ball by Mr. Trevor swam in his head and he closed his eyes and groaned softly. Jane giggled at her brother's obvious discomfort for she knew that he hated balls almost as much as Lydia loved them. Their mother, of course, was oblivious and scolded Lydia and Kitty to be quiet for goodness sake and for the sake of her nerves. What a relief it was when Mr. Trevor and his party finally did appear and it was discovered that his party consisted of only three altogether, himself, two unknown gentlemen and no ladies at all. Mr. Trevor was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His blue eyes sparkled under an unruly nest of blonde curls, his pink, full mouth curled up always into a smile and his rosy cheeks beamed with good humor. His companions were fine gentlemen, with an air of decided fashion. They were brothers to be sure, that much was evident in their coloring and in their carriage. Both were tall and pale and thin with dark hair and eyes, both had distinct patrician noses but the similarities ended there, for while the elder was the taller of the two he had thinning hair and the beginnings of a paunch and his nose turned up in a manner most unbecoming, but the younger brother, though shorter in stature, soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, handsome features and noble mien.

"Jane! John!" Charlotte Lucas waved energetically at them as they entered the ballroom, it was perhaps an unseemly display but then this was her home so who was to judge. Lydia and Kitty were immediately lost in the crowd of their friends already dancing, too giddy with youth to pay any mind to Charlotte already a mature lady of twenty seven and approaching the age of an Old Maid. Jane, however, warmly embraced her friend and John gallantly kissed her hand. Charlotte beckoned them close to her and whispered conspiratorially behind her fan,

"See those two Gentlemen there Jane," she glanced pointedly at the two gentlemen accompanying Mr. Trevor. Jane nodded and John leaned in. Smiling at her attentive audience, Charlotte continued

"That's the brothers Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, it's said they have ten thousand a year—each." Jane gazed at her friend in wonderment and Charlotte fluttered her fan and smiled with the pleasure of knowing something that her friends had not known first. John smiled down at Charlotte for her good humor was infectious, she really was a sweet girl and it was not at all her fault that she was too thin to be really pretty or that her mouth was too wide for loveliness or that Love had somehow eluded her, a fact that was incomprehensible to John as she really was one of the smartest, sweetest ladies of his acquaintance and possessing of such a wonderful sense of humor. "They're very elegant," sighed Jane gazing wistfully at the younger brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. John smiled, amused at Jane's sudden infatuation, he leaned over to whisper to the girls

"Better pleased with themselves than what they see I think" said John, noting the brothers' proud, erect posture and cool, evaluative glances at the assembly.

"Jane! John! Come here!" Mrs. Watson gestured to them wildly. The two siblings rolled their eyes and reluctantly left the side of their friend to attend to their mother.

"Do you see that Gentleman there" she whispered in a tone that could be heard across the room, "That's Mr. Trevor's oldest friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Lady Lucas has just told me that he has a great estate in Derbyshire" she said with all the smugness of a cat who has just eaten a canary. This of course, was not news to John and Jane as they had just been told as much by Charlotte but they pretended surprise for their mother's sake. Mrs. Watson simpered, "Don't you think he is the handsomest man you have ever seen Jane."

"Indeed" replied John vacantly for he found himself suddenly lost in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's thick, dark hair, beautiful pale skin and aristocratic nose, so long and fine and straight. Jane stared at her brother askance; she raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully as if to say silently "What if Mum-ma should hear?" John caught her glance and checked himself but happily Mrs. Watson did not hear as she was too busy telling Jane of the many attributes of the Holmes brothers, the chief of which was their immense fortune.

"Indeed," said John recovering quickly "He would not be so handsome if he was not quite so rich" he squeezed his mother about her middle to emphasize what a capitol joke he had just made.

"Oh!" exclaimed his mother and waved him away. "Oh, oh! Jane! They're coming over, smile dear, smile!" and dropped her eyes coquettishly as the gentlemen approached their party. Sir William, Charlotte's father, made the introductions,

"Mrs. Watson!" he exclaimed warmly, kissing her hand, "Mr. Trevor has expressed a wish to become acquainted with you and your daughters!"

"Sir!" smiled Mrs. Watson, nearly leaping forward in her enthusiasm, "That is very good of you! This is Jane, the eldest and Lydia and Kitty dancing," she gestured to the crowd "and Mary sits over there" pointing at Mary who was engrossed in her prayer book in a corner, "Do you like to dance Mr. Trevor?" asked Mrs. Watson as an artless way of framing a suggestion that he dance with one of her daughters.

"Why there is nothing I like better Madam" replied Mr. Trevor, innocently stepping into her trap.

"Well, Jane is not engaged for the next two dances, are you Jane?" said Mrs. Watson, pushing her daughter forward.

"No, I'm Single" blurted out Jane, blindsided by the brilliant blue of Mr. Trevor's sparkling eyes, "I mean—no, I'm not engaged" she blushed at her own outburst. Trevor appeared not to notice as he smiled widely,

"Good!" he replied simply, for the eloquence of speech appeared to have left him as gazed into Jane's pretty face.

"And your friend" said Mrs. Watson, noticing Sherlock lurking behind Trevor's shoulder, "Are you too fond of dancing?"

"Please forgive me" said Trevor, suddenly remembering his friend's presence," Allow me to present to you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Pushed suddenly into the center of attention Sherlock stiffened visibly but managed to maintain an air of politeness, he gave a slight bow,

"Sherlock Holmes, at your service." When he looked up he met John's eyes. John felt an electric shock jump through him as looked into those penetrating dark eyes which seemed to pierce right through him into his very soul. John shivered and felt something jump in his chest, while something else, something that had lain sleeping for so long, moved restlessly in his trousers. Mrs. Watson broke the spell,

"Are so eager to dance as your friend?" she said eagerly to Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes turned his dark, disturbing eyes away from John to regard her,

"No. Thank you. I rarely dance" he said flatly.

"Well, then let this be the exception," smiled Mrs. Watson, "For I'll wager you'll not find such lively music or such pretty partners" she glanced at Jane proudly and then back at Sherlock, but Mr. Sherlock Holmes had already made his escape. "Well! Did you ever meet such a Proud, disagreeable man!" exclaimed Mrs. Watson indignantly as soon as Jane and Trevor had joined the dancers and were safely out of earshot, at least, John hoped they were. Feeling suddenly protective of the strange young man, Mr. Sherlock Holmes with his odd penetrating eyes, John whispered to his mother a warning,

"Mum-ma he will hear you."

This did no good for she merely raised her voice louder,

"I don't care if he does, who is he to think he is so far above his friend as to not join in the dancing" she sniffed. Again, John felt compelled to defend Sherlock though he could hardly think why he should care. Still, there was something about him, something that was in need of John's protection, something--- Vulnerable--- in those dark eyes. What color were his eyes? Blue, brown, grey? John tried to recall but all he could remember was the power of the young man's glance and something behind it—something that felt—Lost.

"Well," said John searching for an explanation that would calm his mother "The very rich can afford to give offense where ever they go" it was not much of an explanation to be sure and his mother made it clear she would accept no such excuse. So he turned to a joke instead, as was his usual defense,

"Perhaps he's not so handsome after all" he teased.

"No indeed, he is nothing compared to his friend" agreed his mother, her anger and disappointment fading. John smiled and kept his opinions as to which young man was the more handsome, to himself.

The ball proved to be quite short of gentlemen, despite Mr. Trevor's addition of his two friends, for they would not dance and stood against the wall all evening, refusing any company but each other's. John was forced to be as gallant as he had feared he must be in the carriage ride to the ball and was not allowed to beg off with only his usual two dances, the first and last with Charlotte Lucas, whom everyone assumed he would one day marry, but had to take a turn with nearly every eligible young lady in the room until his poor injured leg had been kicked black and blue by his enthusiastic dance partners and he had to beg to be allowed to sit with his cane and rest in the corner. He hoped that if he sat very quietly, the ladies might forget he was there and move on to easier, more willing prey. Trevor at least, did not seem to notice he was there because he happened to overhear him say to his friend Sherlock,

"Come, Sherlock'' said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner" he insisted.

"I certainly shall not." Replied Sherlock with irritation, "You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. There is not woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are,'' cried Trevor, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.'"

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Sherlock, looking at Jane, who was flirting behind her fan at Trevor from across the room.

"Oh!" exclaimed Trevor rapturously, "She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind her, who is very pretty," Trevor indicated Mary, sitting all alone, a wallflower always at balls, "And I dare say she is very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.'' Sherlock gave his friend a pained look that said he would sooner swallow poison then dance with that sallow skinned girl with the disapproving expression, but he made an attempt to be polite,

"She is tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me."

"Sherlock" Trevor began again but his friend stopped him.

"Trevor, I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men." Sherlock said impatiently, "You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'' Trevor, seeing that Sherlock was not about to let himself be persuaded, wisely took his friend's advice and did just that. John felt a sudden flush of anger rise from his neck and begin to creep over his shirt collar. Mary was no beauty to be sure and her manners and her attitude were without Charm but still she Was his sister and he felt a certain brotherly anger towards this Proud young man who just insulted her. Though John would have liked nothing better than to punch his fist into Sherlock's pretty face, he swallowed his anger and limped over to where Charlotte Lucas was standing. He then proceeded to assuage his brotherly feelings of hurt by repeating the overheard exchange to Charlotte, first in an excellent mimicry of Sherlock Holmes and then in various mocking, silly voices, which made her laugh heartily and made him feel better, despite his inability to defend his sister publically.

Sherlock Holmes studied John and Charlotte from his position on the wall. To the untrained eye, the way they leaned into one another, the way Charlotte smiled and flirted with her eyes, the way that John stood much closer to her than was really proper made it seem to every other observer as if they were about to become engaged to be married at any minute. Sherlock, however, was no casual observer of human behavior and correctly deduced by observing Charlotte's laughter and John's frequent glances in his direction that they were making merry of him—well that and the fact he could read lips. Sherlock felt a hot jolt of shame at the realization that had hurt this young man, a feeling immediately followed by a burst of annoyance. What devil should I care about his good opinion? He and his silly family are of no concern of mine, Sherlock thought. He glowered at John and chewed his bottom lip fretfully. Soon, he found his eyes had traveled away from John's face and across his broad shoulders. How well John looked in his red coat, his regimentals did his manly figure a great credit what with the way his coat clung to his muscular chest and nipped in at the waist, it even made him look taller though he stood hardly a head above his lady companion. Sherlock's eyes dropped lower on John's form… "

I can guess the subject of your reverie" said Mycroft Holmes in Sherlock's ear, startling him out of his daydream.

"I should imagine not" replied his brother, no longer in a trance but not tearing his eyes away from John either. Mycroft chuckled.

 

 

"[His mind was more agreeably engaged"](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/His-mind-was-more-agreeably-engaged-291587773) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)

[On Tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner" he said so quietly that none could overhear "In such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! -- What would I give to hear your strictures on them!'' he waited for Sherlock to take the bait and deliver some entertaining witticism to break the tedium of the evening but was entirely disappointed by his brother's response.

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you" said Sherlock distracted, "My mind was more agreeably engaged."

"Indeed, on what? Pray tell." replied Mycroft, slightly put out that his attempt to provoke his brother had failed.

"I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes can bestow" said Sherlock with a softness so uncharacteristic that Mycroft blinked in surprise.

"And dare one ask---Whose are the eyes that inspired these reflections?" said Mycroft carefully, following Sherlock's gaze which remained fixed in the direction of Dr. John Watson and Miss Charlotte Lucas.

"No" said Sherlock, like a slammed door. Mycroft fell silent and stared over his brother's shoulder, a full minute passed before he said,

"Sherlock, there is no mystery to be solved within the back pockets of Dr. John Watson's trousers."

"His trousers don't have pockets" replied Sherlock, absently.

"Precisely" said Mycroft smugly. Sherlock tore his eyes way from the back of John's trousers, which he had been studying so intently and looked back at his brother who was smiling an acid smile and nearly flushed as he realized he had been found out. "Dr. John Watson--- I am all astonishment---and here I thought you had outgrown that…" Mycroft paused, his lips twitched, "Weakness." Mycroft moved away from his brother, leaving him alone on the wall to close his eyes in embarrassment.

 

 

*.*.*


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which---John is offered Jam, Sherlock wears a Sheet and Mycroft plays Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing.

Some weeks later, on a Tuesday morning in grey mid-November, a footman arrived from Neitherfield with a letter for Jane.  Mrs. Watson's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was already eagerly calling out, when her daughter began to read,  
  
"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love!"  cried Mrs. Watson in overheated excitement.  Jane began to read aloud but her sweet, measured tone was not hasty enough for Mrs. Watson who snatched the note from Jane's hands in her impatience and read the letter herself before Jane could protest this invasion of the privacy of her correspondence.  
  
"My Dear Miss Watson,  
  
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with my brother and myself, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two brothers can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. Mr. Trevor is to dine with the officers.  
  
Mycroft Holmes."  
  
"Dining out," exclaimed Mrs. Watson disappointed, "that is very unlucky" she mourned.    
  
"May I have the carriage?" asked Jane, looking over at  John.  
  
"No no, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night." Said Mrs. Watson, pleased with herself for having thought of such a clever way to insure that Jane must dine at least once with Mr. Trevor.  
  
"Mum-ma!" gasped Jane scandalized at the idea.  
  
"That would be a good scheme," said John drily, "if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home."  
  
"Oh! But Mr. Trevor will take his chaise to go to Meryton; and the Holmes have no horses to theirs" said Mrs. Watson in a smug tone.  
  
"I had much rather go in the coach." Interjected Jane quickly, trying to defuse what appeared to be the beginnings of an argument between John and their mother.  
  
"But, my dear, your brother cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, John, are they not" said Mrs. Watson in a way that was not a question.  
  
"Mother, are you sure that this wise?  Jane, all alone, on horseback, to dine with Two Gentlemen and No Chaperone.  Surely that cannot be seemly.  And in the rain?  That cannot be good for her health, she will catch cold or even pneumonia." said John, attempting to be firm in this matter.  
  
"Nonsense," snorted his mother, "No one dies of little trifling colds."  
  
"At least let me accompany her," urged John, "As a Chaperone and we shall take the carriage."  
  
"No indeed," said Mrs. Watson grandly, "she shall take Nellie and that is good enough.  And the Holmes's are Gentlemen I am sure, at least one of them is, there is no need for alarm."  
  
Seeing as his mother would have her way, John reluctantly agreed and Jane set off on horseback.  As soon as she was out of sight a great thunderclap was heard and the skies opened up with a downpour as heavy as if a knife had been taken to bottom of a water skein. John stared at the pounding rain outside the window, angry with himself for allowing his mother to have gotten the better of him despite his misgivings and better judgment.  
  
"Well, Mother," said John sourly, "if Jane should have a dangerous fit of illness and if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Trevor, and under your orders."  
  
Mrs. Watson paid him no heed. "This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" she said proudly as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission.  
  
Jane certainly could not come back.

 

*.*.*

  
  
Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield brought the following note for John:  
  
"My Dearest John,  
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones -- therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me -- and excepting a sore throat and head-ache, there is not much the matter with me.  
  
Your Loving Sister,  
  
Jane Watson"  
  
"Well Mother, you are to be congratulated.  It is all as you have planned it. Now Jane will most certainly have to stay another night and probably the week if she does not die first from the attentions of an incompetent apothecary, one Mr. Jones." John folded up the letter and threw it angrily on the table.  
  
"Oh she will be taken good care of." Protested Mrs. Watson as her son fumed, "As long she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her, if I could have the carriage."  
  
"No," said John "You've done quite enough.  I will go and see Jane.  She is need of a doctor's care."  
  
"But..." began his Mother, but he silenced her with glance, his mouth was pulled into a thin angry line and she thought better of trying to press her point this once.  
  
"Well, send for the carriage then" said his Mother at last, admitting defeat.  
  
"No," said John, grabbing his cane "I will walk."  
  
"How can you be so silly," cried his mother, "as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."  
  
"I shall be very fit to see Jane -- which is all I want" said John pointedly. "No indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing, when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner." And with that he left the house under a cloud, to walk off his anger in the soggy countryside.

 

*.*.*

  
  
John crossed field after field at a quick pace, scrambling over stiles and slogging through puddles with impatient activity, and finding himself at last within view of the house, with weary ankles, dirty boots, and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.  Also, his injured leg was shooting darts of painful complaint at his having walked so far and for so long.  He began to see the wisdom of his mother's suggestion of taking the carriage but was far too stubborn to pay any heed to his body's protests.  
If the butler, who greeted him at the door felt any surprise at his appearance, he betrayed none but showed John into the breakfast-parlour, where nearly all but Jane were assembled.  His appearance created a great deal of surprise amongst Mr. Mycroft Holmes and Mr. Trevor but Mycroft was the first to recover,  
  
"Dr. John Watson," said Mycroft by way of greeting, folding up The Times which he had been reading and laying it beside his plate in as crisp a fold as his butler had given it to him that morning, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"  
  
"My sister Jane," said John making a slight bow, "She is ill."  
  
"Indeed she is but you should not have troubled yourself.  She is no danger and is resting quietly upstairs." Mycroft replied calmly, as if having sick young ladies and their mud covered elder brothers appearing for breakfast in the house was the most natural thing in the world and something he was quite used to.  
  
"You came on foot?" exclaimed Mr. Trevor in disbelief.  
  
"As you see" said Mycroft throwing Trevor a glance that seemed to add "Imbecile."  
  
"Well Sir, you've come all this way and in such dirty weather for no reason but we may at least offer you breakfast" Mycroft pushed a basket of muffins in Johns direction, "Jam?" he inquired politely.  
  
John blinked in confusion, "Thank you, I just…" but he was interrupted by Sherlock's sudden appearance in the breakfast room.  He was wrapped entirely in a white sheet, which he wore draped about his slender frame like a Greek statue chiseled from the finest blue veined marble.  
  
"Sherlock are you wearing any pants?" asked Mycroft curiously, looking down at Sherlock's bare feet.  
  
"Mycroft did you eat the last of the marmalade?" Sherlock said irritably to his brother, ignoring the question. He did not appear to notice John but John became keenly aware that he had at least an inch of mud caking the edges of his boots and was no doubt spoiling the Persian carpet.  
  
"There's strawberry jam Sherlock" said Mycroft tolerantly "And where are your clothes?"  
  
"But I really wanted marmalade" said Sherlock impatiently and with a disappointed air.  
  
"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell."  Mycroft smiled at John. For the first time, Sherlock seemed to notice John was there for he seemed to stiffen a little in his sheet.  
  
"Um, I think I'd to see Jane now, if you please" said John awkwardly, eager to leave this strange domestic scene and feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the sight of Sherlock so utterly naked—underneath his sheet.  He was given leave to go and for that he felt uncommonly grateful.  He did not know what had disturbed him more, the fact that Mr. Sherlock Holmes appeared to prefer to take his breakfast wearing nothing but a sheet or the fact that said sheet had at one point slipped and exposed a glimpse of smooth, white shoulder the sight of which gave him that feeling of uneasiness in his trousers again, a feeling that was rapidly becoming an old friend as it seemed to occur whenever Sherlock was near.  
  
Jane had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. John was glad to be taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at his entrance. John examined his patient, and, as might be supposed, diagnosed her as having caught a violent cold.  He told her that they must endeavor to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely.  As soon as he was convinced that Jane was as comfortable as she could be made to be, he left her to rest and rejoined the party in the breakfast room.  Mr. Sherlock Holmes was still there and, thankfully, was now wearing pants.  
  
"How is our patient?" inquired Mycroft of John and with a wave of his hand, indicated that he should take a seat and join them.  
  
"Just a cold, nothing more, a few days rest and she will be free to travel" said John, pulling up a chair at the foot of the table.  
  
"Tea?" inquired Mycroft.  
  
"Hum?" asked John "Oh yes, thank you."  
  
"I'll play Mother" said Mycroft, lifting the pot to pour.  
  
"And There is a whole childhood in a nutshell" said Sherlock with a touch of triumph.  
Mycroft ignored his brother's childish needling and passed John a cup of tea which he then sipped uncomfortably. Several minutes passed before Trevor finally broke the silence,  
  
"You will stay of course until Miss Watson is well?"  
  
"Sorry?" asked John, a little surprised at this offer.  
  
"Of course he will.  Why, Sherlock and I wouldn't hear of anything else, would we Sherlock?" said Mycroft turning to his brother and smiling meaningfully.  Sherlock gave him a sharp glance but said nothing.  
  
"Of course, you must stay tonight and every night until your sister is well," continued Mycroft "It's the least we can do as we are partially to blame for her ill health.  I shall send a servant to Longbourn to acquaint your family with your sister's condition and bring back a supply of clothes."  
  
"Thank you Sir, that's very generous of you to allow me to intrude on your hospitality." Said John not entirely certain that he hadn't just walked into something he would much rather avoid.  
  
"Not all, not at all" smiled Mycroft "In fact—we Insist." He emphasized the last word and smiled as though he just made a rather clever joke.  Sherlock settled deeper into his chair, his eyes were a flat and unreadable black.

*.*.*

  
  
At half past six John was summoned to dinner. He had managed to avoid further acquaintance with the Holmes brothers and their peculiar ways with the excuse that, as a Doctor, he could not possibly leave the bedside of a sickly sister.  However, dinner was an obligation that could hardly be avoided.  He could not hide all week from his hosts however peculiar their ways might be or however well founded his suspicions were that one of the three Gentlemen, at least one, was sneering at him through a veil of politeness.    
  
"Well Jane, will I do?" asked John, turning from the looking glass where he had been straightening his cravat to look at Jane who lay in bed with hardly more color in her cheeks to distinguish her from the bedclothes.    
  
"You look very handsome John," smiled Jane and then added mischievously, "As you well know."  
  
John chuckled a little at this, he knew how he looked.  He was no beauty but at least the valet had managed to have his boots cleaned and the footman had arrived with his clothes and among them his mother had thought to include a dinner jacket.   That was something at least.  For while he could not pretend to be a Gentleman of Fashion, nor would he wish to be one, at least he would not disgrace his family and embarrass a beloved sister in front of what might very well be an interested suitor.  
  
"Oh I'm afraid this evening will be a tedious one," said John with a long suffering sigh, "With only your Mr. Trevor for real company.  Of the three of them, he is the only one I can regard with any complacency as his anxiety for you has been most pleasing." John smiled at Jane thinking to tease her out her lethargy and with a hope that his words might indeed be true, for Mr. Trevor was in a position in the world to give his sister every comfort she deserved.  
  
"Then try to endure it for my sake" replied Jane, smiling a little despite her cold, "And he's not my Mr. Trevor, not yet."  
  
"Not yet" teased John, "But I think he very soon Will be."  
  
Jane smiled, pleased at the thought.    
  
"Well, into the fray I suppose." And with a sigh he went down to dinner to face whatever sort of strange behavior Mycroft and his little brother might produce.

 

*.*.*

  
  
At dinner, the civil enquiries poured in and amongst which he had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Trevor's although, he could not make a very favorable answer. Jane was by no means better.  Mr. Mycroft Holmes, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much he was grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively he disliked being ill himself and then thought no more of the matter.  His indifference towards Jane, when not immediately before him, restored John to the enjoyment of all his original dislike of the man.  Mr. Mycroft Holmes engaged his brother's attentions for the majority of the evening with whom he talked politics.  Mr. Sherlock Holmes seemed to have little interest in the subject and his knowledge regarding it appeared to be feeble but he brightened considerably when the topic turned to certain sensational and lurid stories of the day written up by The Times.  Indeed, he seemed to know every detail of every horror perpetuated in the last century, an attribute John found fascinating as he did unsettling.  Happily, Mr. Trevor proved a most attentive and warm host and prevented John feeling himself so much an intruder as he believed he was considered by the brothers.  
When dinner was over, he returned directly to Jane.  She was still very poorly, and John would not quit her at all till late in the evening, when he had the comfort of seeing her asleep and when it appeared to him rather Right than Pleasant that he should go downstairs himself.  For truly, he did not relish an evening spent with the brothers Holmes, but felt he must put in an appearance for Trevor's sake and perhaps for the sake of Jane's future happiness. On entering the drawing-room, he found the whole party at playing at loo and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high he declined it, having neither the funds nor the interest to support the play.  Instead, he made Jane the excuse and said he would amuse himself for the short time he could stay below with a book.  
  
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said Mr. Trevor, "That is rather singular."  
  
"Dr. John Watson" declared Mr. Mycroft Holmes, "despises cards. He is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else" baiting John in his boredom for Trevor was an indifferent card player and Sherlock had been off his game ever since John had entered the room.    
  
"I--deserve neither such praise nor such censure," frowned John, perplexed by Mycroft's obvious attempt to disturb him yet feeling he should come to his own defense, "I am Not a great reader, and I take pleasure in many things."  
  
"I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many books, I have more than I ever look into" said Mr. Trevor with a merry air.    
  
"I'm sure I can suit myself perfectly with those in the room." John reassured Trevor, not wishing trouble his host more than his presence already had.  
  
"I am astonished," said Mycroft, "that your father should have left so small a collection of books Trevor. -- What a delightful library we have at Pemberley wouldn't you say so Sherlock?"  
  
"It ought to be good," his brother replied factually, discarding a card, "it has been the work of many generations."  
  
"And you have added so much to it yourself, for you are always writing books." Said Mycroft, smiling at his brother in a fashion, that may or may not, have been encouraging and fond.  
  
Sherlock looked up abruptly from his hand, "Monographs Mycroft---to be precise" replied his brother coldly.  
  
Mycroft smiled. "And what were the topics of these—monographs?  Something about ash? I hardly remember" said Mycroft carelessly pinching away an itch from the tip of his long nose and rearranging his cards.  
  
Sherlock's lips twitched and his eyes narrowed at his brother, "Cigar ash."  
  
"Cigar ash?" asked Trevor, for he was once again lost in following the conversation being unable to do so and play cards at the same time.  
  
"I enumerated upon a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco ash.  There were colored plates illustrating the difference in the ash, it was called 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos'" said Sherlock who now seemed to have lost all interest in cards.  For the second time this evening John saw in him some spark of interest in the conversation although the fires burned low and guarded.  
  
"Very widely read by the public I am sure" said Mycroft in a way that suggested that he doubted very much that it was true.  He took a Trick and passed the play to Trevor who was trying to make sense of his hand.  
  
At this point, John was so much caught by the turn of conversation as to leave him very little attention for his book, especially since he found the title, "Secret Writings," rather heavy going and soon, laying it wholly aside, he drew near the card-table and stationed himself between Mr. Trevor and Mr. Mycroft Holmes on the pretense of the better to observe the game.  Instead Trevor changed the subject.  
  
"Is Miss Holmes much grown since the spring?" said Trevor; "Will she be as tall as I am?" he said with an open smile.  
  
"Perhaps she will. She is now about Dr. John Watson's height, or rather taller" said Sherlock, discarding a card.  
  
Was this a joke about his height? John hardly knew whether Sherlock Holmes was joking or merely being observant.  Whichever it was, it was in bad taste to say so, thought John.  John was shorter than average height for a man, hardly taller than his sisters and like all short men, this rankled on him.    
  
"How I long to see her again!" exclaimed Trevor, he seemed in danger of losing the game and the more this was true the less interest in it he showed.  Perhaps that was how he had survived as the singular friend of Mr. Sherlock Holmes all these years.  It was simply impossible for Trevor to be put out of his humor.  He continued to wax eloquent about Miss Holmes's many virtues,  
  
"Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite. It is amazing to me how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."  
  
"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Trevor, what Do you mean?" asked Sherlock with annoyance for Trevor was plainly not even trying to win at this point which left only Mycroft to play against and he was quite obviously in the lead.    
  
"Yes all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was Very accomplished" said Trevor innocent to the sound of his own naiveté.  
  
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," smirked Mycroft, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it not otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are Really accomplished."  
  
Sherlock said nothing, the triviality of the conversation had lost his interest and he focused instead on forcing his brother to earn his victory.    
  
"Then" observed John, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman." He was laughing up his sleeve at the pompousness of Mycroft yet nonetheless he was intrigued as to which way the conversation might turn next.    
  
"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it" said Mycroft evenly. "No one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. Don't you agree Sherlock?"  Sherlock made no reply but focused on his hand, refusing to be drawn into the conversation.  Mycroft continued,  
  
"Why a woman, for example, must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to even deserve the word accomplished; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."  
  
"All this---she must indeed possess," said Sherlock, "And to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by Extensive reading." And with that he laid down his Trump and smiled at his brother who seemed momentarily put-out and for once at a loss in his temper---for Sherlock had just won the game.  
  
John hid a smile, enjoying seeing the elder Holmes look so disconcerted at being Trumped and said in his usual teasing way, disguised by a false sobriety, "I am no longer surprised at your knowing Only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing Any."  
  
"Are you so severe upon the fairer sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?" asked Trevor, "Oh Mr. Holmes I am Looed!  You have had quite the better of me and you are the richer for it!" and he waved the Pool away with the dismay of a rich man who has lost only what he did not miss.  
  
"I have Never seen such a woman. I have never seen such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, United." Said Sherlock and if he felt any triumph or contentment at having beaten his brother, he hid it well.  
  
"Quite" said Mycroft, gathering up the cards, his mouth now pulled into a slight smile that was not so much as smile as it was the concealment of teeth.  "Women are duplicitous creatures, never entirely to be trusted, not the best of them.  These so-called Accomplishments you describe, Trevor, are merely paltry devices which young ladies use who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by simultaneously encouraging others to boast of their accomplishments while undervaluing their own.  With many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a very Mean art."  
  
John, being a brother to many young ladies, felt the sting in Mycroft's remark and that he must make a reply, so he said "Indeed, there is Meanness in All the arts which people sometimes condescend to employ for captivation.  Hearts should be given freely---not captured as trophies.  In matters of Love whatever bears affinity to cunning is Despicable."  
  
"Hearts, Love" said Mycroft, a smug smile beginning to grow in the corner of his mouth despite his anger at having been Looed by his little brother, "Dr. Watson you are a Romantic" and then the smile bloomed wide as a knife blade and just as sharp.  John felt its bite.  
  
"If Sir, you mean that I am the sort of person that believes that people can only be happy  when they have the Love and Regard of other people, at least one, and that no man may be considered Wicked when he has not had first the chance to be happy, then I plead Guilty." He replied hotly.  
  
Mycroft's smile widened and he looked as pleased as if he had won the game instead of lost.  The two men locked gazes as if wrestlers in a struggle but then Mycroft broke contact and turned to his brother saying "Sherlock what do you think of our Romantic friend?"  
  
But Sherlock had already left the card table and was playing something slow and sad and unfamiliar to John on a violin.  At Mycroft's question his playing changed and became lively and quick and agitated.  It intensified in its volume and complexity until the agitation of the piece, though expertly played, quite drove John from the room.  He made the polite excuse of a sick sister to Trevor and departed upstairs as readily as he could manage it.  Sherlock made no attempts to wish John a pleasant night but continued to saw away at his violin with increasingly violent energy until he finished the movement with a dramatic note.  Then, somewhat out of breath, he dropped his bow and stared at the closed door as if he could see through it. Mycroft, unperturbed by this musical outburst, released a slow stream of smoke from the cigarette he had lit during John's hasty departure.    
  
"Tartini---The Devil's Trill?  Showy."  Commented Mycroft, the smoke hissed between his thin lips and filled the air with a poisonous atmosphere.      
  
Sherlock spun around to face his brother, shocked out of whatever reverie he had been lost in. After a moment's pause, he walked over to the large picture window and placed his violin on a small table nearby, to stare into the blackness of the garden, brooding and silent.     
  
"I must say what an affection Dr. Watson shows for his sister, to walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, in mud above his ankles this morning and alone, quite alone.  It shows an affection for his sister that is most pleasing" said Trevor happily, the gravity of whatever was going on between the brothers lost on him, as usual.    
  
"Indeed, I concede the point Trevor, that Dr. John Watson in addition to being a Great Reader is also an Excellent Walker" said Mycroft tartly.  "I shall never forget his appearance this morning, his hair so untidy, so blowsy, his boots so covered in mud.  Six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain.  He really looked almost wild.  I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all. Why must He be scampering about the country all because his sister has a cold?" Mycroft sucked in another stream of smoke this time releasing it in bites.    
  
"This was all lost upon me."  
  
"Everything is lost upon You" quipped Mycroft.  
  
But either Trevor didn't hear this rude reply or he didn't care for he paid no attention, "I thought Dr. John Watson looked remarkably well, when he came into the room this morning. His muddy boots quite escaped my notice."  
  
"You observed it, Sherlock--I am sure" said Mycroft in a soft half-whisper that was low and compelling, "I am afraid--that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of his…" Mycroft paused, the corner of his mouth twitched, "Fine Eyes." Mycroft watched Sherlock carefully to see where the blow would land.  
  
"Not at all," replied Sherlock, not looking up from the window or even moving, "They were brightened by the exercise."  
  
A short pause followed this speech, and then Mycroft began again.  
  
"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Watson, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart that she were well settled. But with such a mother and with such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it." Mycroft made this pronouncement without sentiment and with all the detached interest of a remark made about the weather and as no one made any reply to this he inhaled again, "I think I have heard you say, Trevor, that the Watsons have an uncle who is an attorney in Meryton."  
  
"Yes and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside" said Trevor looking back and forth between the brothers as confused as a cat watching a table-tennis match.  
  
"That is capital!" said Mycroft and laughed unpleasantly.  
  
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Trevor, in Jane's defense, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable! I do not think…"  
  
"Then let me help" said Sherlock, snapping away from the window "the Watson sisters have an uncle in Meryton and another in Cheapside as such it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world that is the chief Point---Trevor."  
  
Trevor flinched as if struck.  For a moment—no one said anything.  Then Trevor swallowed and said, "Really Sherlock, you can be quite Trying—At times."  And without even making his goodnights, Trevor retired.  
  
Sherlock stared at the second closed door of the evening.  Then he stood beside his brother who gave him a maternal smile and passed him a cigarette.  Sherlock lit the cigarette with a wooden match and inhaled and for a time---both were silent.    
  
"They Care.  They both Care so---Much.  Mycroft---do you think--- Do you ever wonder---If there is something—Wrong---with us?" said Sherlock quietly.  
  
Mycroft looked up at Sherlock with a slight frown of bemused puzzlement.  
  
"All lives end, Sherlock.  All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."  
  
"This isn't Shag" said Sherlock as a reply.  He flicked his cigarette ash upon the rug.  
  
"Well" said Mycroft dryly, "You hardly know him."

 

*.*.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was Sherlock playing? What did it sound like?  
> Click to find out:
> 
> Tartini--The Devil's Trill
> 
> "slow and sad" 1st Movement -->http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HPud-j9F1M&feature=youtu.be
> 
> "lively and quick and agitated" 2nd Movement -->http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeLkouLvpN4&feature=youtu.be


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which, Mycroft takes a walk, John gets his watch examined and Sherlock kills the dog--again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hot hate is twin brother to hot love." --- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
> 
> I still own nothing.

The next morning, John requested to have a note sent to Longbourn informing his mother that while Jane's illness was not alarming, he did not think it at all advisable that she be moved, despite Jane's proposal of being carried home.  The note was immediately dispatched and upon the reading of it Mrs. Watson decided to pay a visit to Jane herself and form her own judgment of the situation. Mrs. Watson, accompanied by Kitty and Lydia, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.  When the Butler announced their arrival, Mycroft could not help but remark with dismay,  
  
"And now the Mother---Are we to be descended upon by every member of the Watson family? It is too much to be borne."  
  
This piece of rudeness, Mrs. Watson happily did not hear, for she burst through the breakfast parlor door with exaggerated exclamations of dismay, dragging Kitty and Lydia and John close behind her.  In response to these theatrics, Mr. Trevor said with anxiety,  
  
"Oh Mrs. Watson, I do hope you have not found Miss Watson worse than you expected."  
  
Now, had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Watson would have been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her, and having been reassured by John that her illness was not any cause for alarm, she had no wish of Jane recovering immediately, as her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield.  So, in an attempt at artfulness, she wrung her hands and wailed,  
  
"Indeed I have, Sir!  She is a great deal too ill to be moved. John says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."  
  
John rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to spoil his mother's performance.  
  
"Removed!" cried Trevor, swallowing the baited hook up to the pole, "It must not be thought of! Holmes, we will not hear of her removal shall we."  
  
"You may depend upon it, Madam,'' said Mycroft, with cold civility, "that Miss Watson shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us."  
  
Mrs. Watson was profuse in her acknowledgments.  
  
"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world -- which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her."  
  
It was their good fortune that Kitty and Lydia were too giddy and foolish to comprehend the fact that in an effort to recommend Jane to Mr. Trevor their mother was insulting them but John felt the impropriety of the remark and wished his mother miles away or at least, at home where she could cause the family no more embarrassment.  
  
"Mum-ma" John said quietly, hoping to rein her in but Mrs. Watson was not to be deterred and continued in her gauche manner,  
  
"You have a sweet room here, Mr. Trevor, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease" said Mrs. Watson as she eyed the windows with an enterprising air as if already choosing the curtains to be hung after Jane's wedding.    
  
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he in cheerful enthusiasm; "and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."  
  
"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said John hoping to change the subject and draw attention away from his mother's overt designs on Trevor's property.  
  
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried Trevor, turning towards him.    
  
The ruse had worked.  
  
"Oh! Yes -- I understand you perfectly" said John, smiling for one could not help but smile at Trevor, he was always of such extraordinary good humor as to inspire it in others, well, in most others.  
  
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but I am so easily seen through I am afraid is it pitiful." Said Trevor with a glance towards Sherlock who was patiently ignoring the whole party by looking out the window Mrs. Watson had just been admiring.  
  
John followed Trevor's glance, then flirted impulsively, "That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."  It was such an bold flirt that he rather surprised himself and even Mrs. Watson did not fail to see it for she scolded him,  
  
"John," cried his mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home!"  
  
At this, his mother's treatment of him as if he were Kitty or Lydia,  John felt the flush of humiliation begin to creep up his neck as Mycroft Holmes smirked and Sherlock continued to pretend to be deaf at the window.    
  
"I did not know before," said Trevor coming to the rescue, "that you were a studier of Character. It must be an amusing study." This remark was made in all innocence, as Trevor either hadn't noticed or didn't care that John's remark had been wildly inappropriate just moments before.  
  
"Yes; but intricate characters are the Most amusing. They have at least that advantage" replied John with a pointed glance at Sherlock, purposely attempting to antagonize him into joining the conversation.  
  
"The country," said Sherlock turning away from his meditations out the window, "can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighborhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society."    
  
Well, this was not the pithy reply John was hoping for, but Sherlock was speaking to him at least.  
  
"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever." Said John, meeting Sherlock's eyes and once again he felt power of that gaze thrilling through him, traveling electrically down his spine, causing his chest to jump, his stomach to float, it ran tingling down his tailbone before grounding itself in his crotch to form a dull but pleasurable Ache.  
  
"In my experience," said Sherlock, holding the gaze, commanding it "most people, once Observed, possess very little of interest to See."  
  
Blue, thought John, his eyes are Blue, Blue-grey like brushed silver, darkly rimmed with tiny flecks of…he checked himself and pushed away this thought.  There were Others present after all.  
  
"And…what is it…that you Observe?" asked John, resisting the pull of the gaze but falling into it in spite of himself.  Damn those eyes, so soft and grey, like mist, like fog, they wrapped him in softness like a warm wet hug, he forgot his mother, he forgot himself---he forgot---Everything.  
  
Sherlock smiled gently.  The sharpness left his face and in this unguarded moment, he looked as young as his years.  
  
"That the more I Observe…the more I See" replied Sherlock, soft and low in his marvelous baritone voice, warm and melodic as a cello.  
  
John felt a kiss grow behind his lips.  In a moment it would bloom against Sherlock's soft and lovely mouth and he would stroke his tongue, caressing, across those lips which would yield and part and invite him in and then…  
  
"Yes, indeed !" cried Mrs. Watson, breaking into this pleasant daydream," I assure you there is quite as much of That going on in the country as in town."  
  
At this outburst, everybody was surprised.  Even Mycroft stared at her, his astonishment at the improper implications of her remark, extinguishing his usual smugness.  Lydia giggled.  The spell was broken and Sherlock after looking at Mrs. Watson for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Watson, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.  
  
"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Trevor?"  
  
"When I am in the country," replied he, glad of the opportunity to change the subject, "I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either." Trevor finished diplomatically.  
  
"Aye -- that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman," said Mrs. Watson, looking at Sherlock, "seemed to think the country was nothing at all."  She remarked indignantly, in a tone that said she was greatly offended.  
  
"Indeed, Mum-ma, you are mistaken," said John, coming to Sherlock's defense and in an attempt to distract the company from the exchange of glances that they had witnessed and persuade them that it had not, in fact, occurred. "You quite mistook Mr. Holmes. He only meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge to be true."  
  
"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families" exclaimed Mrs. Watson proudly to the party.  
  
Trevor coughed.  Nothing but concern for Jane's brother could enable Trevor to keep his countenance as he choked on his laughter.   Mr. Mycroft Holmes was less delicate, and directed his eye towards Sherlock with a very expressive smile.  John, after examining the floor for a convenient hole in which to jump into and discovering it to be to be disappointingly solid, cast about for a question  for the sake of saying something that might turn his mother's thoughts,  
  
"Mother, has Miss Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since Jane took ill?" asked John, grasping at the first thought that entered his mind.  
  
"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Trevor -- is he not? So much the Man of Fashion! So genteel and so easy! -- He has always something to say to everybody. -- That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter'' said Mrs. Watson, raising her voice to hurl the last sentence at Mr. Sherlock Holmes who had resumed his position at the window and was again pretending to be deaf.  
  
"Did Miss Lucas dine with you?" said John, trying anything at this point to turn his mother's attention elsewhere, anywhere, but in Sherlock's direction.  
  
"No, she would go home" said Mrs. Watson in disappointment, "I fancy she was wanted about the mince pies. For my part, Mr. Trevor, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so Very plain -- but then she is our Particular Friend.'' And she threw these last words across the room at Sherlock.  
  
"She seems a very pleasant young woman," said Trevor, attempting to soothe her.  John gave him a grateful look.  
  
"Oh dear, yes!" Mrs. Watson turned back to Trevor, thoughts of Jane's marriage consuming her mind and Mr. Sherlock Holmes's upsetting attentions to her son, forgotten.  "But you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane -- one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says."  
  
Lydia gave a great sigh and flopped ungracefully onto the sofa.  She and Kitty had finished examining every porcelain dog and Chinese curiosity in the room and now they were bored by the adults' conversation.  John felt relief pass over him.  His mother's boasting was offensive to be sure but at least she had turned away from Sherlock.    
  
"I do not trust my own partiality." She continued, while Trevor pretended to be interested.  "Why when she was only fifteen, there was a Gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town, so much in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away, but he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were." She inhaled to begin another monolog.  
  
"And so ended his affection," said John, cutting her off impatiently.  The gentleman his mother was discussing, had at the time, intentions that were hardly to be trusted and his late father had run Jane's would-be Suitor off with a pistol and some well-placed threats.  Later, it was discovered that not only was he twice Jane's age, but also already married.   His mother, of course, had conveniently forgotten this, remembering only his large fortune and his distant relation to some sort of minor nobility.  
  
"There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!" exclaimed John in disgust.  
  
"Some consider poetry as the Food of love," interjected Sherlock, a faint amusement playing about the edges of his lips.  Was he teasing him?  wondered John.  No matter, it achieved his purpose to change the subject away from Jane.  John deliberately swallowed the bait.  
  
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may be." He said to Sherlock, easily "Everything nourishes that which is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.'' He said the last with defiance, daring Sherlock to meet his eyes again.  
  
But Sherlock only smiled, and the general pause which ensued made John tremble lest he expose himself.  His hands betrayed him.  And to stop their shaking John clasped them behind his back.  He longed to speak---but could think of nothing to say.  He was undone; and Mr. Sherlock Holmes was the undisputed winner.    
  
After a short silence, Mrs. Watson began repeating her thanks to Mr. Trevor for his kindness to Jane with an apology for troubling him also with John. Mr. Trevor was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced Mycroft to be civil also, and say what the occasion required. Mr. Mycroft Holmes performed his part, indeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Watson was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage.  Upon this signal, Lydia, the youngest of her daughters, put herself forward. Lydia and Kitty had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that they had determined that it was Lydia who should tax Mr. Trevor with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.  As her mother shepherded her towards the door, she burst forth with,  
  
"Oh Mr. Trevor did you not promise to give a ball here at Netherfield as soon as you were settled?  It would be a great scandal if did not keep your word." She admonished him.  
  
Now Mr. Trevor had promised no such thing but Lydia's childlike charm caused him to grin with the indulgent affection of an Uncle.  
  
"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement, and when your sister is recovered, you shall if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill."  
  
Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! Yes -- it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball,'' she added, "I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not." This she declared with all the confidence of a little girl announcing to her Nurse that she and her teddy bears are wanted for tea and pretend cakes.  
  
"Oh! There now Lydia that's a fair promise for you" squealed Mrs. Watson, delighted with her youngest daughter's impudence which she mistook for cleverness, "That's generosity for you.  That's what I call Gentlemanly Behavior."  Mrs. Watson threw a smug look at Sherlock's back.  
  
John closed his eyes and winced.  
  
Mrs. Watson and her daughters then departed, and John fled the breakfast room to return instantly to Jane, leaving his own and his relations' behavior to the remarks of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in his brother's censure of John, in spite of all Mycroft's witticisms on "Fine Eyes."

*.*.*

  
  
The rest of the day passed much as the day before had done. John spent it attending to Jane and was relieved to have the excuse to hide from Mycroft's smiles and Sherlock's eyes.  He even took his dinner with her, using her illness as his reason to avoid joining the rest of the gentlemen in the dining room.  He doubted very much that he would be missed anyway; certainly Mr. Mycroft Holmes would not be sorry of his absence.  Inconveniently, Jane continued, though slowly, to mend; and because of this John felt obliged in the evening to rejoin the party in the drawing room. As he made his way there John nearly tripped over a large bulldog asleep near the door. His stumble caused him to make a most ungraceful entrance into the room as he fell into the doorframe causing the door to make a great clatter in its hinges and startling both Mr. Mycroft Holmes and Mr. Trevor who were at piquet.  Mycroft looked at John disdainfully which caused John in his embarrassment to explain,  
  
"Terribly sorry, a dog, in the hall, I fear I missed it in the dark" he trailed off awkwardly but Mycroft only turned to Sherlock and said without concern,  
  
"Sherlock have you killed the dog again?"  
  
"Oh what have you done to poor Gladstone now?" cried Trevor in dismay.  
  
Sherlock did not look up from his letter writing in the corner.  
  
"Our dog" he corrected his elder brother.  
  
"The dog" said Mycroft.  
  
"Gladstone Is our dog."  
  
Mycroft sighed the sigh of a suffering parent.  
  
"Sherlock, how often have I told you to pick Up your toys once you are through Playing with them." He frowned at his little brother in annoyance, as though he had just trod upon a tin soldier left on the floor by a thoughtless child.  
  
Sherlock did look up at this and noticed John staring at him, somewhat aghast at this exchange. After pause, Sherlock said almost apologetically to John,  
  
"He doesn't seem to mind."     
  
"And he Isn't dead" Sherlock shot back at his brother, "I was experimenting with a new kind of anesthetic." He said with a sulk.  
  
"Ah" said John, as if this explained everything, which of course in Sherlock's mind, it did.  
  
This little excitement over, Mycroft returned to ignoring John and insisted that Trevor attend to his hand effectively shutting John out of the play, piquet being a two player game.  Sherlock returned to his letter and took no notice of anything else leaving John to find himself once again in need of something to read.  He picked up a magazine from the table and resigned himself to struggling through an article entitled "The Book of Life" which he found to be a mixture of shrewdness and absurdity.  Sherlock watched him read from across the room, darting little furtive glances to catch John's expression though he needn't have bothered with the subterfuge as John was frowning, absorbed in the article until he let loose with a short laugh.    
  
"What are you reading?" asked Sherlock casually.  
  
John looked up, he had forgotten Sherlock was there, so engrossed he had been.  
  
"Some article, perhaps you have read it?  I see you have marked it."  
  
"I have," said Sherlock, "How are you finding it?"  
  
"It is ineffable twaddle" laughed John. Mycroft snorted with amusement.  John ignored him.    
  
"It attempts to show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systemative examination of all the came his way.  It irritates me.  It is evidently the theory of some armchair lounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study.  I don't deny that it is smartly written but it is not practical.  I should like to see the author clapped down in a third-class carriage on the Underground and asked to give the trades of all his fellow travelers.  I would lay a thousand to one against him."  
  
"You would lose your money," Sherlock replied calmly, "As for the article, I wrote it myself."  
  
"Oh" said John, regretting his tactless words.  
  
Mycroft smiled widely at John's discomfort.  "Sherlock has a turn for observation and deduction.  The theories which appear to you to be so chimerical, are really extremely practical."  
  
"Indeed they are," said Sherlock to his brother, abandoning his letter and leaning back in his chair, "So practical that I Could depend on them for my bread and cheese" he delivered these words defensively to his brother as if this were the continuation of an old argument.  
  
"How?" asked John curiously.  
  
"I could have a trade of my own. I could be a detective, only on a consulting basis of course, everyday crime is so Boring."  
  
"A consulting detective?  Never heard of such a thing" said John skeptically.  
  
"Because there Aren't any" said Mycroft acidly.  
  
"Yet" retorted Sherlock, his eyes grown steely and hard.  
  
"Do you mean to say, that without leaving this room, you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?" asked John, intrigued now but still disbelieving.  
  
"Quite so," said Sherlock, steepling his hands, his long white fingers pressed elegantly together, " I have a kind of intuition that way, Observation with me is second nature."  
  
"Observe me then" challenged John mischievously.  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at John, like a raven getting a better look at a snail.  
  
"Observe me.  You said the more you Observe the more you See.  Look at me---and tell me what you See—or else this is all so much Brag and Bounce." Now this was a deliberate flirt and John defied Sherlock with his eyes who in return smiled a secret smile while Sherlock's eyes glittered with the fullness of what he Might say---had there been no other company present.  
  
"Very well," said Sherlock "At your insistence."  
  
At this point, even Mycroft was sufficiently interested as to put down his cards, not that he had much choice as Trevor had already abandoned his hand in favor of watching Sherlock's performance.  John felt Sherlock touch him with his eyes, beginning at the top of his head and moving down to the toes of his boots.  It was a purely analytical gaze, cool and detached, not the heat he had felt in the breakfast room when a kiss loomed so dangerously near.  After a moment Sherlock made his diagnosis,  
  
"You are an Army doctor…"  
  
"Yes but everyone knows that" interrupted John.  Sherlock paid him no heed.  
  
"You recently served in Afghanistan fighting the zombie wars but were discharged a year ago due to a death in the family, your father.  Your father was a Gentleman but with little wealth and your limp is psychosomatic."  
  
"You were told all these things of course, you heard them in town" said John, smarting from the suggestion that his limp, which frequently pained him, might be imaginary.  
  
"Nothing of the sort.  I Knew you came from Afghanistan, it was Obvious from the moment I saw you at the Meryton assembly, the red coat marked you for a soldier of course, but you were clearly of a medical type, an army doctor then, your left arm has been injured for you hold it in a stiff and unnatural manner, an army doctor who has seen action, where are the Queen's men stationed who would see such action?  Why in Afghanistan, where even now they are clearing away the last of the scourge of the Dreadfuls who ravaged our fields and farms some years ago.  Yet your skin is pale, had you been recently discharged you would have been brown as nut, so you have been back for some time, a year perhaps, it could have been longer, but not much longer as you still look a bit haggard which clearly says that you have endured hardship and sickness in the near past, you are also young and the army hates to let go of young fighting men, so why did they let you go?  Commonly, a soldier is only discharged honorably for a few reasons, one being the death of a father when he is the only male heir, I knew it had to be your father by the watch you carry, the watch is gold, an expensive trinket, unlikely for a soldier, inherited then and from the style of it, antique, so it was made for the last generation, jewellery usually descends to the eldest son, he no doubt was given the watch by his father and passed it onto you at his death, so there was once some wealth in the family yet you have worn the same boots you arrived in despite the fact that clothes were sent for, clothes did arrive but fresh boots no, boots are expensive, can't afford a dress pair merely for Calling, so the family wealth has been largely lost, how am I doing so far?" Sherlock finished his rapid fire of words with a Proud smile that begged for a compliment.  
  
Damn me if I'll give him one, thought John with irritation.  This fellow may be very clever but he is certainly very conceited.  
  
"And the limp? How can you say it is imaginary?" said John, bristling a bit.  
  
"Psychosomatic, Not imaginary, entirely different, the original circumstances it was acquired were probably traumatic, Afghanistan again, the limp pains you when you walk, especially three miles through mud covered countryside but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, you Do need a chair after dancing with insipid young ladies but Not after dancing with your Particular Friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. Trevor do fire your scullery maid or at least have her thrashed."  This last was aimed at Trevor who only stared at Sherlock in response.  
  
"What?" he said, intelligently.  
  
Sherlock sighed, "His boots Trevor, what a mess she has made of them, see how the shoe has been scored with several parallel cuts?  She has been clumsy in scraping around the edges of the sole in order to remove the crusted mud from Dr. Watson's boots which he wore during his walk through the country side and now she has carelessly spoilt them.  It's an unconscionable offense; he cannot very well afford to replace them."    
  
John examined the sides of his boots, there were indeed cuts on the sides of both shoes just as Sherlock had described, somehow he had not noticed them before when the valet had returned them.  John hid his dismay, for Sherlock was correct, he couldn't replace them and now they would cost him a cobbler's fee to repair.  
  
"Brilliant!" exclaimed John in spite of himself, "That was…Amazing."  
  
Sherlock blinked.  
  
"You think so?" he said, surprised and even touched.  
  
"I do" said John sincerely, "Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary" John gushed.  
  
"Oh." Sherlock went silent for a moment.  "That's not what people normally say."  
  
John frowned in concern,  
  
"What do people normally say?"  
  
Sherlock hesitated, then he smiled a little ruefully,  
  
"Piss off."  
  
Mycroft laughed aloud, Sherlock glared at him and Trevor in an attempt to diffuse the situation interjected,  
  
"I'll wager you could not do it again."  
  
Sherlock looked at him, the beginnings of a fraternal argument, stopped in its tracks.  
  
"Yes," said John hastily, trying to mend Sherlock's feelings which were clearly hurt by Mycroft's callousness, "I'll wager you a guinea you could not repeat it."  
  
"You can ill afford to lose it, anyway there is no one else here to read but Mycroft and  
Trevor and that would hardly be fair, they are both too well known to me, no, save your money to mend your boots."  
  
John clenched his jaw, his family was not rich to be sure but Sherlock needn't take every opportunity to press this point.  
  
"I'll put up the money" said Trevor hastily.  John looked at him but Trevor only smiled amiably, "Oh do try it again, Sherlock, I love these little parlor tricks of yours" he said brightly.  Sherlock's mouth hardened at the word "trick" but he agreed.    
  
"What shall I read?" he asked John, his own expression gone unreadable.  
  
"Why not my watch---Would you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner?" John said this to tease Sherlock but he took the watch from John's hands in all seriousness.  He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works.  John could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case shut and handed it back.  
  
"There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts."  
  
"You are right," John answered, "It was cleaned before it was given to me."  
  
"Your father's name was Hamish Watson," Sherlock began.  
  
"That you gather, no doubt, from the initials H.W. upon the back" said John.  
  
"Quite so.  The W. suggests your own name, the date of the watch is nearly fifty years back and the initials are as old as the watch; so it was made for him."  
  
"How did you know the H. stood for Hamish?"  
  
"I didn't but it was a common name for men of that era so I surmised."  
  
"You mean you guessed" smiled John, teasing him.  
  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I never guess.  It is a shocking habit—destructive to the logical faculty.  Your middle name is also Hamish."  
  
"Right again, but how did you know?  I've never been fond of my middle name and rarely use it."  
  
"The eldest son usually has the same name as the father, as your first name is not Hamish, your middle name must be."  
  
"Right so far" said John, enjoying the game "Anything else?"  
  
"Very little, as said, the watch has been cleaned, all I could glean was that he was a man of untidy habits---very untidy and careless.  He was left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity and finally, taking to drink he died.  That is all I can gather."  
  
At this John sprang up from his chair as if stung and limped impatiently about the room with considerable bitterness. Mycroft smirked, openly pleased while Trevor looked uncomfortable.  
  
"This is unworthy of you, Holmes!" said John, angry and hurt "I could not have believed that you would have descended to this. You have made inquiries into the history of my unhappy father and now you pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way.  You cannot expect me to believe that you have read all this from his old watch. It is unkind----and, to speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it!"  
  
The room went dead.  John did not know whether to rage or to cry, so he swallowed and gripped the back of a chair, looking away from the party in an attempt to master his emotions. What Sherlock had spoken was the Truth and Truth had sliced him open to the bone.  
  
After a moment Sherlock said kindly,  
  
"My Dear Doctor---pray accept my apologies."  
  
John looked back at him.  Sherlock returned his gaze with a tender sincerity, his eyes a gentle blue.    
  
"Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you.  I assure you, I never knew anything of your father's gambling difficulties until you handed me the watch." Sherlock said with concern.  
  
"Then how in the name of all that is---Wonderful---did you get these facts?" John said shakily, "They are absolutely correct in every particular."  
  
"What seems strange to you is only because you do not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which large inferences may depend.  For example, I stated that your father was careless.  When you observe the lower part of that watch-case you notice that is not only dinted in two places but is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket.  Surely it is no great feat to assume that man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man.  Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that man who is given one article of such value is pretty well provided for in other respects."  
  
John nodded, his hurt fading.  Sherlock continued, his pace slower than his earlier rapid fire deduction.  
  
"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a watch, to scratch the numbers of the ticket with a pin-point upon the inside of the case.  It is more handy than a label as there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed, there are no less than four such numbers visible on the inside of the case, so I inferred that your father was often a low water.  Secondary inference—that he had occasional bursts of prosperity or he could not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the key hole.  Look at the thousands of scratches all-round the hole—marks where the key has slipped.  What sober man's key could have scored those grooves?  But you will never see a drunkard's watch without them.  He winds it at night and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand.  Now---where is the mystery in all this?" Sherlock finished earnestly.    
  
John opened the watch and examined it, then he opened the back and stared at the case, then he snapped it shut and replaced the watch in his pocket.  
  
"It is clear as daylight" said John soberly, "I ---regret—the injustice which I did you."  
  
Sherlock froze.  
  
"You're apologizing."  
  
"Yes, I should have had more faith in your marvelous faculty." replied John, seriously.  
  
Sherlock processed this for a moment, his expression unreadable again.  
  
"No one's ever done that before."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Apologized."  
  
"Oh," said John, unsure if Sherlock was pleased or merely perplexed.  "Well---I am."  
  
Sherlock nodded taking this in.  
  
"It was Excellent, truly."  
  
"Elementary" said Sherlock dismissing the praise but as he looked away, John fancied he saw him smile with pleasure.  
  
"Yes, yes," said Mycroft breaking in impatiently, "Excellent, Brilliant, Oh how he does love to be Dramatic" speaking with a touch of disgust.  
  
"Well, thank God you're above all that" said John sardonically.    
  
This is becoming a habit, John noticed. Defending Sherlock seemed to be his reflexive response to any criticism aimed in Sherlock's direction.  What this need to protect the young man meant John didn't like to think---and so he did not.  
  
Mycroft smiled dangerously.  
  
"Your pardon---What I meant to say was Sherlock Holmes is a man without Fault."  
  
"Is he indeed? A man without Fault."  
  
John could not help but laugh a little at this.  
  
"A man without Fault.  That is not possible" said Sherlock, smarting from John's laugh.  "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers."  
  
Mycroft slipped in, smooth as an eel,  
  
"Dr. Watson, you are a studier of Character, tell me, what is your Observation of my brother now that he has Observed you?"  
  
John smiled a little.  Mycroft was attempting to entrap him and force a quarrel, this much was apparent.  John was determined that he would not be successful.  So he teased Sherlock instead.  
  
"I am perfectly convinced that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."  
  
The barb overshot its mark and instead of landing harmlessly to the side as John intended, it hit Sherlock squarely in his Pride. Wounded he replied,  
  
"Dr. John Watson, has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a Joke." He said with bitterness.  
  
John felt instantly grieved.  He longed to take Sherlock into his arms, hold him against his chest, press his cheek against his cheek and whisper softly in his ear, "I'm sorry."  But this impulse passed and then he felt angry at having been misinterpreted.  It was only a joke, thought John defensively, Why can't he laugh at himself a little.  
  
"Certainly," replied John coolly, "there are such people, but I hope I am not one of Them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies Do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. -- But these, I suppose, are precisely what You are without."  
  
Mycroft smiled.  
  
"Perhaps that is not possible for anyone." Said Sherlock, flat, cold and mechanical, "But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to Ridicule."    
  
John nodded and frowned in mock seriousness, "Such as Vanity perhaps and Pride?"  
  
"Yes, Vanity is a weakness indeed. But Pride -- where there is a real superiority of mind, Pride will be always under good regulation.  My temper I dare not vouch for. -- It is I believe too little yielding -- certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called---Resentful. --- My good opinion once lost is lost forever."  
  
"That is a failing indeed," said John gravely, all traces of mockery gone, "You have chosen your fault well---But---I cannot laugh at it.  You are safe from me."  
  
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome" said Sherlock icily.  
  
"And Your defect is a propensity to Hate everyone" said John, his anger rising, comforting him against the hurt he felt at Sherlock's withdrawal from him.    
  
"And Yours is to willfully Misunderstand" retorted Sherlock, a flash of fire breaking through all his ice.  
  
"Do let us have a little music!" Interrupted Trevor, for he hated to see a quarrel. "Sherlock, play us something, you play so excellently and are the only one amongst us with any talent, do play!  
  
Sherlock stared at John with restrained emotion.  John stared back, not at all intimidated.  Sherlock rose from his chair and took up his violin from its case.  Mycroft continued to smile.  He had been looking increasingly pleased as the tempers rose and now looked fit to burst with smugness.  After a little tuning and a few warm-up notes Sherlock's violin exploded with a confusion of notes that swooped and swarmed and chased each other about with an intensity that varied between aggravated vexation and anxious distress until it ended with a scream.  
  
"Obsession---Ysaye.  That's a bit of an Obvious choice" sneered Mycroft, he drew a cigarette from a leather backed silver case and lit it.  
  
Sherlock seemed not to hear for he drew a deep breath and his bow stroked the strings tenderly emitting an ache of Longing that turned into sweet Melancholy punctuated by a pang of Wanting which spiraled up into Need then dipped down into Grieving becoming increasingly Desperate before falling into Sorrow. As he played, he swayed into the music and glanced at John over his bow as if willing him to know something with his eyes but what meaning his moonstone eyes meant to convey John did not know.  Did Sherlock look at him out of affection?  No, that was not possible for they had just quarreled.  Yet that he should look at John because he disliked him was still the more strange. John could only imagine that he drew Sherlock's notice because there was a something about him more wrong and reprehensible, according to Sherlock's ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain John.  He liked Sherlock too little at the moment to care for his approbation.  
  
The music expired in Despair.  Sherlock dropped his bow and let it hang from his hand limply at his side---then he replaced it in its case and would touch it no more, however much Trevor flattered him.

*.*.*

  
  
The next morning was a fine one and as John had no wish to keep to the house when such weather was to be had, he took his cane out to the grounds for a walk.  He did not get far on the gravel path when saw Mr. Mycroft Holmes approaching in the distance.  John immediately turned around and prayed that he had not been seen, hunching his shoulders as if to make himself smaller and thus avoid Mycroft's company.  
  
"Dr. John Watson," called Mr. Holmes the Elder, "I did not know that you intended to walk."  
  
As he could hardly leap into the shrubbery like a startled deer, however Much he might have wished it, John slowed his pace and allowed Mycroft to overtake him.    
  
"You have used us abominably ill," chided Mycroft, "in running away without telling us that you were coming out."  
  
Us?  Was Mr. Holmes using the royal We now?  Like the Queen, thought John and longed to say something to laugh at this piece of conceit but he held his tongue and instead he replied,  
  
"I hardly knew it myself, it was a decision impulsively made."  
  
Mycroft smiled his thin smile which said that he saw through the lie,  
  
"Then no one knows that you are here.  Walk with me," it was not an invitation, it was a command.  John, curious to know his mind, obeyed.  
  
"I hope," remarked Mycroft with an exaggerated concern,  "that you will give your mother a few hints, when the Desirable Event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers."  
  
John was taken aback.  Although he had an idea of the meaning of this statement, he thought it prudent to pretend ignorance.  
  
"Sorry?" said John with a frown, "I do not comprehend your meaning Sir."  
  
"Yes you do" replied Mycroft unalarmed, "Dr. John Watson, you are hardly a match for my brother's intelligence but you are not a stupid man, certainly you are not as Stupid as you pretend."  
  
John could think of no reply to this and as Mr. Holmes seemed to have a great deal he wished to say, he simply waited for what might come next.  
  
"Three days ago you moved into this house, in that time you have disturbed my brother with your…" Mycroft's lips pursed, "Fine Eyes" he spit out the word as if it were a piece of gristle he no longer wished to chew, "Had your---Watch—examined and caused him to play Ysaye." He frowned and shook his head a little in his dismay. "Might we expect a Happy Announcement by the end of the week?" finished Mycroft, his smile returned, dry and crisp.  
  
The directness of the question shocked John into blurting out a protest,  
  
"We are not a Couple!"  
  
Mycroft gave him a withering look,  
  
"Yes you are."  
  
"You know your brother's heart so well as to be certain of this?" said John disbelieving.  Mycroft Holmes may know his brother well but in this point he must be mistaken, John was sure of it.  
  
Mycroft sighed the weary sigh of a harried mother.    
  
"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher and yet he yearns to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"  
  
"I don't know" replied John, confused by this turn of the conversation.  
  
Mycroft's smile grew tired and melancholy and faded.  
  
"Neither do I. But initially---he wanted to be a pirate."  
  
John had absolutely no idea what response to make to this, yet he felt resentful that  
Mycroft should take it upon himself to intrude into his brother's affairs –and also into his own.  
  
"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?" asked John sarcastic, but controlled.  
  
Mycroft showed his teeth.  
  
"Oh yes. -- Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle, the judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your own portrait, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to such Fine Eyes.''  
  
At this mockery, John's jaw worked but he swallowed the lump of anger and resisted an urge to punch Mycroft in the face, instead he smiled tightly,  
  
"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably Fine---Might be copied."  
  
Mycroft's eyes narrowed nastily but John was spared from further stabs of his poisoned tongue by Gladstone the bulldog who appeared to greet his Master as they approached the house.  John, grateful for the interruption, patted the dog affectionately and Gladstone in his enthusiasm at receiving attention, managed to deliver a well-placed long slimy glob of spittle on the toe of Mycroft's polished boot.  Mycroft wrinkled his nose in an expression of disgust and took his handkerchief from his pocket to remove the offending glob.  He then placed the handkerchief back in his pocket with all the dismay as if the handkerchief held something of Gladstone's that was far worse.  John, taking this opportunity to escape, elected to remain behind to play with Gladstone who had brought him a stick, while Mycroft returned to the house, presumably to have his boots cleaned.

*.*.*

  
  
Sherlock arose from the bath and stood before the window, the steam clouding the air like an Oriental bathhouse.  

  
[Steam](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/Steam-302565551) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)  


[On tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

Now had John or anyone else been able to see into the window, he would have treated to the delectable sight of the white naked body of a beautiful boy, beads of water rolling down his long graceful back to slide into the cleavage of his excellently formed buttocks, above which were two dimples perfectly shaped for the placement of two thumbs---But of course this was quite impossible as the bathroom window was several stories above John's line of vision and in any case, he was too busy playing Fetch with Gladstone to notice anything else.  

  
Sherlock toweled off his sculpted legs and slender boyish frame and with the expert grace of a long time nicotine addict, lit a cigarette.  By chance, Sherlock glanced out the window and what he saw made him forget the cigarette in his hand.  

  
[He fell into a Daydream](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/He-fell-into-a-Daydream-302566089) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)  


[On tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

John had taken off his jacket.  The cool of the morning was already fading and the day promised to be warm.  Sweat, stirred up by his energetic play with Gladstone, had soiled John's white shirt which now clung to his chest and back.  Sherlock fell into a daydream.  John would have to change his linen when he returned to the house.  He would have to remove the soiled shirt.  Slowly, the shell buttons would be worked, one by one and the shirt discarded, revealing the thin white undershirt beneath.  It too would need to be removed.  Sweat had ruined it, it would cling damply to John's chest, suggesting his muscles beneath, a hint of nipple---what would it be like to slip a hand under that shirt?  Would there be wiry golden hair?  A thick nest or just the down of a peach?  His arms would be muscular, like the rest of his body, not yet gone soft from the easy life of a Country Gentlemen, no, still hard, still strong, the body of a soldier, broad chested and powerfully built.  John bent over to pick up Gladstone's dropped stick.  Sherlock would have blushed at his own thoughts this movement evoked but the cigarette had burnt down to his fingers and he dropped the butt before it singed him.  The moment was lost.  Sherlock turned away from the window and looked for his clothes.  He refused to look out again.

*.*.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You caused him to play Ysaye" Obession; Movements 1 & 2, expertly played by the talented Miss Hilary Hahn-->http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ut1H-3tE6jk&feature=youtu.be


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which---Sherlock poisons Mycroft's tea, Anderson arrives and a Stranger is introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing.

Having had quite enough of the company of the brothers Holmes and their smiles and their eyes and their frank observations and since Jane was, at last, well enough to travel and since she agreed that they had trespassed long enough on Mr. Trevor's hospitality,--- John wrote the next morning to their mother to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Watson, who had calculated on Jane remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive the request with pleasure.  Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to John's wishes, for he was impatient to get home. Mrs. Watson sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added that, if Mr. Trevor pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. -- Against staying longer, however, John was positively resolved -- nor did he much expect it would be asked as Mr. Holmes the Elder had made it entirely clear to him the previous day that John's presence in the house was not welcome; and fearful, on the contrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long on Mr. Trevor's generosity as a host, he urged Jane to borrow Mr. Trevor's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and the request made. Only the master of the house seemed to feel any real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and Trevor repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Watson that it would not be safe for her -- that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right and so the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place.  
  
"Give my warmest salutations to your mother," said Trevor earnestly to Jane as she climbed into the carriage, "And you Sir, you are most welcome to shoot with us in the Spring when the ground softens and the Dreadfuls thaw."  
  
"Thank you" said John, smiling at Trevor's anxious sincerity "I should be pleased to join you, though you will find few of them since Mr. Bennet and his inestimable daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, passed through here some years ago, we may have to content ourselves with pheasant."  
  
"Thank you Sir, you are very kind" said Jane to Trevor, offering her hand to him through the carriage window.  
  
Trevor took it, held it, seemed to briefly entertain the thought of kissing it but then refrained in awkward shyness.  
  
"Goodbye" he said simply, adrift in Jane's sea-green eyes he could think of nothing else to say.  
  
Jane smiled dreamily at Trevor and squeezed his hand, holding it until the movement of the carriage forced them to part.  
  
As soon as the carriage was out of sight of the house, John began to giggle.  It started out as something small, a mere snort and then giggles and then his giggles grew into laughter and then he laughed uncontrollably until tears sprang into his eyes as every laugh he had suppressed in the last several days came erupting forth and he gasped for breath as Jane stared at him as if he were quite out of his wits.  
  
"Oh Jane," he said at last, dabbing his eyes with the end of his shirt cuff, "I'm sorry to say, I have Never been so happy to leave a place in all---my---Life---Notwithstanding the company of your excellent Mr. Trevor of course" and he sighed and hiccupped a last chuckle. Jane smiled at him, a bit bemused, then giggled a little herself at her brother's behavior, as they both relaxed into the back of the carriage seat in a happy heap, she at having so much proof of Trevor's regard for her and he, at being so relieved at his escape.

*.*.*

  
"Oh how pleasant it is to have the house to one's self again" said Mycroft laying down his newspaper in the breakfast room.  He watched Sherlock watch the carriage go from the window.  
  
"But I fear you are already missing Dr. John Watson's pert opinions and---Fine Eyes."  
He smiled in his usual smugness.  
  
"Quite the contrary I assure you" said Sherlock, turning away from the window where the carriage had disappeared.  He approached the table and poured two cups of tea, offering one to his brother,  
  
"Tea?"  
  
Mycroft looked at the cup skeptically, not trusting his spontaneous uncharacteristic  
generosity as some years ago Sherlock had been playing with a new sort of drug that had hallucinogenic properties and slipped it into his sugar.  Afterwards, Mycroft had seen large black dogs for over an hour and was so unnerved by the experience; he had never quite forgiven his brother for it.   Sherlock placed the cup upon the table in front of Mycroft and sat down at an adjacent chair.  
  
"Is it poisoned Nanny?" quipped Mycroft.  
  
Sherlock smiled wryly.  
  
"Not at all.  There's quite enough of That  in you already."  
  
Sherlock sipped his tea and looked venomously over the rim of the cup at his brother.    
  
Mycroft smiled and did not touch the cup; instead he took another muffin from the basket and tore it in half.  
  
"You went walking with Dr. John Watson yesterday" said Sherlock.  
  
"An excellent deduction" replied Mycroft, spreading marmalade, unconcerned.  
  
"Hardly, I observed you from the window.  What did you say to him?"  
  
Mycroft smiled.  
  
"Nothing you have not already guessed."  
  
"I never guess.  I…"  
  
"Yes, yes, we've heard it before" interrupted Mycroft and bit into the muffin.  
  
Sherlock replaced the cup in its saucer.  
  
"How did you find him?" he asked, with a studied nonchalance.  
  
Mycroft ground the muffin between his strong, white teeth and swallowed.  
  
"He shows an abominable sort of conceited independence---a most country-town indifference to decorum."  
  
Sherlock smiled dryly and pushed his cup away.    
  
Mycroft sighed patiently,  
  
"Sherlock you cannot be serious about this young man---he has nothing to recommend him---no family wealth or title, no friends of any Consequence, moreover he will ruin you---you know that father's will is contingent on your being married and your betrothed is…"  
  
"Mycroft, save your breath to cool your porridge" said Sherlock curtly.  
  
Mycroft smiled angrily at his brother's rudeness.    
  
"I am merely pointing out the Facts, surely you as a Logician must understand them---Dr. Watson's Fine Eyes or no."    
  
This did nothing to improve Sherlock's temper.  
  
"Or to use a vulgar colloquialism---do, please, shut Up!"  Sherlock pushed away from the table and swept from the room.  He seemed quite put out.  
  
Mycroft sighed.  He spread the other half of the muffin with marmalade and muttered,  
  
"Children."

*.*.*

  
  
On Monday, at breakfast, John was pleased to note that nothing at all had changed during his short absence.  Mary had brought her bible to the table and was expounding deeply upon her study of the baseness of human nature.  She had some new prudish extracts to admire, and some new observations of thread-bare morality to listen to, while Kitty and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done and Much had been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday and they related this information excitedly to him.  It seemed that several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had Actually been Hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married, a rumor which was causing Lydia and her friends equal parts giddy excitement and lamentatious grief, for he was young and handsome. After a few minutes of listening to all this copious amount of Nothing, John changed the subject,  
  
"I hope, Mum-ma," he said with pretended disinterest, "that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."  
  
Mrs. Watson instantly rose to his bait.  "Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless----Charlotte Lucas!" his mother squealed, for she had never lost hope that one day the two families might be united as it was her fondest wish and she believed, rightly or wrongly, the wish of Charlotte's mother as well, "Oh that she should happen to call! And I hope My dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home."  
  
John smiled a little at his mother's vain hopes and moved to reassure her of their futility,  
  
"Indeed, it is not Charlotte, the person of whom I speak, is a Gentleman..."    
  
The girls excitedly began to guess who,  
  
"Colonel Foster!" squealed Lydia.  
  
"No Captain Carter!" exclaimed Kitty.  
  
"No, no! No I know!  Denny!"    
  
Lydia and Kitty both shrieked like a pig stuck in a fence for they had not seen Denny since the last ball and he was their particular Favorite amongst the officers at present.  Jane widened her eyes at John, as if to say "Stop being so teasing and have it out" but John only smiled and mimicked her expression back at her, unwilling to let go of his little joke for teasing their mother and sisters was entirely too much fun to not drag out for as long as possible.  
  
"The person of whom I speak, is a Gentleman and a Stranger."  
  
Mrs. Watson's eyes sparkled. -- "A Gentleman and a Stranger! Oh! It is Mr. Trevor, I am sure!" She clapped her hands girlishly, "Why Jane -- you never dropt a word of this; you sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Trevor. -- But -- good lord! how unlucky! there is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Cook, this moment!"  
  
Jane gave John a stern look.  She had her fill of her romantic affairs being the center of their mother's attentions lately and made it plain to him by her expression that she did not find his joke at all amusing.  Seeing as the joke had gone far enough John revealed the truth of it,  
  
"It is not Mr. Trevor," said John; "it is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life."  
  
This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by five ladies all at once.  After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained,  
  
"About a month ago I received this letter," producing it and placing it beside his plate, "And about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from our cousin, Mr. Anderson, who---when I am dead---may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases." Said John cheerfully with a beaming smile, knowing what reaction it would evoke in his mother.    
  
"Oh!" cried Mrs. Watson, "I cannot Bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own sisters; and I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it!"  
  
Now Jane and John had attempted in the past to explain to her the nature of an entail, that it was a legal device used to prevent a landed property from being broken up, and from descending along the female line and that it was a logical extension of the practice of leaving the bulk of one's wealth to one's eldest son and that there was nothing to be done about it however unfair it may be.   They had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Watson was beyond the reach of reason; and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of four daughters in favour of only one son who never seemed to have any inclination of marrying at all and that if John should die without an heir, then it would all go Mr. Collin Anderson, a man whom nobody cared anything about.  
  
"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," smiled John, "and nothing can clear Mr. Anderson from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself."  
  
"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it was very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did with your father and his father before him?"  
  
"Why indeed," said John with melodramatic mysteriousness which meant he had a story to tell, "He does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear," he shook open the letter and read slowly for the party at the table.  The letter was written most self-consciously with dramatic swoops and embellishments and the first few words were heavily pressed into the page as if the writer could not help himself but press his pen into the paper with excessive exuberance,  
  
 **DEAR SIR,**  
  
THE disagreement subsisting between your father and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him…  
  
Lydia snorted an indelicate giggle.  John ignored her improper but accurate unspoken commentary on Mr. Anderson's actual feelings about his paternal loss and proceeded,  
  
…I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance…  
  
"There, Mum-Ma you see, he's extending his hand to us" said John in pretended sobriety.  Mrs. Watson sniffed loudly and rearranged her lace cuffs.  
  
…My mind however is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover…  
  
"Oh Lawd, it goes on" groaned Lydia.  John gave her a look and she rolled her eyes, dropped her chin into her hand and played with her spoon, sighing dramatically.  John continued,  
  
…I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable sisters, and beg leave to apologize for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends, -- but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday seven-night following, which I can do without any inconvenience…  
  
"Hmpf !" remarked Mrs. Watson. John pretended not to hear,  
  
…as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your mother and sisters, your well-wisher and friend,  
  
 ** _COLLIN ANDERSON_**  
  
"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman," said John, as he folded up the letter. "He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word; and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again." John chuckled at this, Mrs. Watson looked thoughtful and Jane smiled.  
  
"How very generous he is," said Jane waggishly, "With his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it were required."  
  
"Indeed," said John grinning at his sister, "He must be an oddity in his profession, I think."  
  
"But," said Jane, a frown clouding her pretty brow, "I cannot make him out.  What can he mean by apologizing for being next in the entail? Can he be a sensible man?"  
  
"No, my dear Jane; I think not. In fact--I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse," said John with good humor, "There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises to be well entertaining. I am impatient to see him."  He grinned at the idea.  
  
"In point of composition," said Mary seriously, "his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed."  
  
John agreed that it was so and looked at his sober sister curiously and wondered if he did not see the beginnings of an infatuation.  It was not surprising perhaps that Mary should choose a Rector as the subject of her schoolgirl desires though he had hoped she would choose a more sensible one.  To Kitty and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer was in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour. As for their mother, Mr. Anderson's letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure which astonished her son and her daughters.  
Mr. Anderson was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. John, indeed, said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Anderson seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, thin, hollow chested young man of five and twenty with hair that was most disturbing for it seemed heavy and weighted down with bear grease.  John rather got the impression that Anderson's hair was a sort of barely tamed animal perched atop his head prevented from escaping only by copious amounts of thick hair treatment.  His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated in the parlor before he complimented Mrs. Watson,  
  
"How fine a family of daughters you have Madam," said he, "I had heard much of their beauty, but that, in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth and I do not doubt that we shall see them all in due time well disposed of in marriage."  
  
This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, Lydia in particular rolled her eyes and emitted a sigh of disgust at having been paid a compliment by such an odious man but Mrs. Watson who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily,  
  
"You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly."  
  
"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate," said Anderson gravely.  
  
"Ah! Sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed."  
  
"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, -- and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted --"  
  
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Anderson's admiration but were afforded some relief from his attentions by the appearance of food.

*.*.*

  
  
During dinner, Mr. Anderson was eloquent in his praise of the hallway, the parlor, the dining-room, and all its furniture and his commendation of Everything would have touched Mrs. Watson's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too, in its turn, was highly admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Watson, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing at all to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but Mr. Anderson continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour until hour until everyone wished him, silently of course, a permanent and terminal case of laryngitis. In all this time, John had scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine,  
  
"Mr. Anderson," smiled John amiably, "You seem very fortunate in your patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh.  Her attention to you, and consideration for your comfort, appears---very Remarkable."  
  
John could not have chosen better. The subject elevated Mr. Anderson to more than his usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he said,  
  
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," Mr. Anderson sighed and looked heavenward as if expecting a choir of angels to break into song, "Indeed I am fortunate, I have never in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -- such affability, such condescension, as I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. Why, she had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which I had already had the honour of preaching before her. I have also been asked, Twice, to dine at Rosings," Mr. Anderson said with a simper, "And only the Saturday before she sent for me to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Oh, Lady Catherine is reckoned Proud by many people, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman; she did not make the smallest objection to my joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to my leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit my relations. She even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as I could, provided that I choose with discretion, of course."  
  
"Of course," said John nodding in pretended enthusiasm, "Is that so, well---Amazing."  There was no other polite answer he could make to such a speech.  
  
"That is all very proper and civil I am sure," said Mrs. Watson brightly, taking charge of a conversation John had no objections to relinquishing, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?"  
  
Mr. Anderson sighed rapturously,  
  
"The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence." Said he as if he lived but minutes away from the golden gates of Heaven itself and could visit St. Peter for tea anytime he wished to annoy the Angel.  
  
"Only by a lane? Well---fancy that Jane," said John smiling innocently at her.  Jane had the misfortune to be sipping from her tumbler of water when John's expression caused to laugh which made her forget that she was not a fish, so she inhaled and then choked and then coughed into her napkin and glared at John while she coughed out her laughter and his eyes twinkled with mischief while Mr. Anderson profusely expressed his concern and tried offering her more water which Jane dismissed with a shake of her head.  She had, had enough to drink at present.  
  
"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?" Asked Mrs. Watson with genuine interest, drawing the attention away from Jane's coughing fit.  Of all of them she appeared to be the only one who did not seem to see to see the idiocy and over all tediousness of Mr. Anderson and his ridiculous conversation.  
  
"She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property." He replied Importantly.  
  
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Watson, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?"  
  
"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features that which marks a young woman of Distinguished Birth…"  
  
And inbred as a race horse no doubt, thought John but only he made a small cough and smiled politely at the mention of the singular "marks" of "Distinguished Birth."  Mr. Anderson did not seem to hear the cough though Jane did and kicked her brother under the table with a look that said "Behave." She had only just recovered from her own coughing spell and wished to discourage him from starting another one. But John smiled guilelessly at her as Mr. Anderson droned on,  
  
"…She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am informed by the governess who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies."  
  
"Ponies, really, how extraordinary" John smiled at Anderson who fluttered his eyelids in deference at the very thought of the Noble lady's invalid inbred daughter passing by his cottage.  
  
"Has she been Presented?" asked Mrs. Watson impatiently, "I do not remember her name among the ladies at court."  
  
"Oh…"Anderson gave a little regretful wave of his hand, "Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament---Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies,"  
Anderson leaned in conspiratorially towards John and dropped his voice a little as if relating some particular bit of cleverness,  
  
"I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. -- These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay."  
  
"Oh Lawd," muttered Lydia and rolled her eyes, causing Mary to frown and Kitty to giggle.  John rolled his lips together and squeezed them tightly shut to prevent a laugh from escaping.  He dared not look at Jane, he knew he would lose his continence with but one Look from her so he said with exaggerated sobriety,  
  
"You judge very properly and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy."  
  
This was too much for Kitty and Lydia.  They quite lost their continence and giggled into their napkins at their brother's mocking of such a pompous, fatuous man as Mr. Anderson.  Jane shot them a warning glance while Mary thrust her shoulders back and her nose in the air signaling that she was above such juvenile behavior.  John caught Jane's eye and winked,    
  
"May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"  
  
John's teasing wink at Jane went unnoticed by Anderson for he took him at his word and answered thoughtfully,  
  
"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible."  
Anderson rubbed his hands together and smiled in what John assumed was meant to be modesty but it came off as more of a sniggering sort of smirk.  
  
"Excellent," smiled John with pleasure, "Excellent."    
  
He took a sip of his brandy with satisfaction for his expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance, and except in an occasional glance at  Jane who in vain implored him with her eyes to be Proper but who could not help in giving in herself to the occasional smile and swallowed giggle that her brother's teasing nature evoked, he required no partner in his pleasure.

*.*.*

  
  
Mr. Anderson was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance. Only a fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.  Through his association with the Lady, Mr. Anderson now a good house and very sufficient income, so when the Lady Catherine de Bourgh commanded him to marry, saying that was not right or seemly for a rector to remain single as he must be a good example to his parishioners, he took it to heart as an utterance from the Almighty.  So, in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends -- of atonement -- for his crime of being next in line after their brother to inherit their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested charity on his own part.  His plan did not vary on seeing them. -- Miss Jane Watson's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority; she was his settled choice.  
  
The next morning Lydia declared that she would walk to Meryton to see if Denny had returned from London.  He was her current Favorite at present and there had been much talk of him since the last ball.  She was determined to go and therefore Kitty had to go too as wherever Lydia led, Kitty was sure to follow.  This meant of course, that Jane had to chaperone for her sisters were far too silly and insensible to go on their own, which meant that John would have been left at home with Mr. Anderson and Mary and since this was not at all agreeable to him he would go too.  Mary would have happily stayed behind with Mr. Anderson and taxed him with questions regarding her biblical studies but when Mr. Anderson saw that John was walking to Meryton, he declared himself much better fitted for a walker than a reader and that he was extremely well pleased to close his large prayer book and go.  Now Mary was not about to let her quarry go to Meryton without her and that is how Lydia's whim created a large walking party.  
  
In the pompous nothings of Mr. Anderson on John's one side, and in the civil assents of his sisters on his other, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by Him. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could recall them.  But their attention was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with an officer on the other side of the way.  
  
"Oh look there's Denny!" squealed Lydia to Kitty.    
  
"Who's that with him?" whispered Kitty to her sister.  
  
"Dunno" said Lydia, staring, slack jawed as a codfish.    
  
The gentlemen came closer.  
  
"Oh but he's fearful handsome though!" she said in eager delight.  
  
The officer was indeed the very Mr. Denny, concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed to her as they passed but her eyes were utterly fixed on the handsome stranger beside him.    
  
"Oh they're looking over, Oh Lydia look!  NO don't look!" giggled Kitty, "Oh isn't he frightfully good looking!"  
  
Indeed, all were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be and Kitty and Lydia, were determined if possible to find out.  Lydia, led the way across the street, under the pretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot.  
  
"Denny!" shouted Lydia excitedly and waved wildly while John gave an unheeded admonishment to lower her voice as her bellowing in the streets like a fishmonger was hardly attractive.    
  
Mr. Denny addressed Lydia directly,  
  
"Miss Watson, such an unexpected pleasure.  Why we went into town hoping to find you."  
  
"We came into to town to find you" flirted Lydia.  
  
"Lydia" whispered Jane, mortified by her sister's coquettish behavior. Lydia ignored her as always,  
  
"What a fine joke, we thought you might still be in London."  
  
Lydia was addressing Denny but she darted little flirtatious glances beneath her eyelashes at his handsome friend.  His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty -- a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address.    
  
"There was nothing Amusing enough to hold us there" said Denny, flirting back at Lydia.  Then he noticed that he was not the only receiver of her attentions and his smile became tight and with some reluctance he introduced his companion to the ladies,  
  
"Allow me to introduce my good friend, Mr. Sebastian Wickham."

  
[A Pleasant Meeting](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/A-Pleasant-Meeting-305159290) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)  


[On tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

 

Mr. Sebastian Wickham gave a slight polite smile and Kitty and Lydia melted.  
  
"Wickham---Miss Jane Watson, Miss Mary Watson, Miss Katherine Watson and…"  
Denny smiled jealously, "Miss Lydia Watson" for Lydia's gaze was fixed on Mr. Wickham, she twirled her hair and batted her eyes at him.  It was clear that Denny was no longer her Favorite.  
  
Mr. Wickham bowed to the ladies, then flicked his eyes to John.  A wide easy smile spread slowly across his lips.  John got the distinct impression that Mr. Wickham was evaluating his appearance, that the judgment was favorable and that his face was the last part of his anatomy to be appraised. He felt a pleasurable sort of discomfort at this knowledge.  
To cover his discomfort he said,  
  
"And this is our Cousin, Mr. Anderson" nodding to Mr. Anderson, who gave a sort of sour half smile.  Unlike the ladies, he did not seem pleased by Mr. Wickham's appearance.  
  
"Will you stay long in Meryton Mr. Wickham?" asked Jane, seeking to smooth the ruffled feelings Mr. Wickham's presence seemed, unintentionally, to produce.  
  
"All winter I'm happy to say, I've taken a commission in Colonel Foster's regiment" said Wickham, turning the tropical savanna heat of his smile on Jane, but Jane's purity of heart was such that by the time it reached her it was as harmless as Springtime sunshine. Of all of them she was the only one undisturbed by his smiles.  
  
"Where you shall lend your red coat much Distinction I dare say, out swagger us all, ay Wickham?" added Denny with a sort of resentful humor.  
  
"Denny," said Wickham mildly, "You misrepresent me to the ladies" but his smiles were all for John who quite by accident met his eyes which were precisely the warm shade of tiger-eye gems ringed with gold.  They glittered at John who felt a shiver despite the warm afternoon sun and that which had been sleeping so quietly in his trousers made a sudden jump of enthusiasm that he prayed was not visible.  John looked away; the intensity of Wickham's gaze unnerved him.  
  
"Shall you come with us to visit our Aunt Phillips this evening?" asked Lydia eagerly.  
  
"Oh yes, Denny is going you know" said Kitty hopefully, staring at Wickham.  
  
"It is only supper and cards but we shall have some laughs" Lydia talked over her sister and continued to twist her hair as she flirted.  Wickham smiled indulgently,  
  
"I'm afraid I have not been invited by Mr. and Mrs. Phillips" said he, sidestepping the invitation.    
  
Lydia was not to be deterred.  
  
"Oh nobody cares about that sort of thing nowadays" she scoffed and fluttered her eyelashes at him.  
  
Wickham smiled, "If in the future Mrs. Phillips extends the invitation to include me, I should be delighted" but he was looking at John all the while who shifted his walking cane to his other hand in his uneasiness and avoided Wickham's eyes, now turned feral gold like a hunting cat.  
  
The sound of horses abruptly drew their notice, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Trevor were seen riding down the street.  
  
"Look Jane, it's Mr. Trevor" giggled Kitty, poking her sister in the ribs.  Jane coloured and looked down modestly.    
  
On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Trevor was the principal spokesman, and Miss Jane Watson the principal object. He dismounted from his handsome white gelding and approached her.  

  
[Mr. Victor Trevor](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/Mr-Victor-Trevor-311311867) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)  


[On tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

"How very fortunate," said he, holding his horse's head, "We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after your health."

  
Jane smiled with pleasure when Mr. Holmes corroborated Trevor's statement with a nod which he delivered from atop his great black gelding, a spirited creature beautifully marked with two white boots and a star, who seemed to dislike the delay in their movement for the beast tossed his head frequently as if nodding.  Sherlock spoke to the horse soothingly and he quitted his head tossing to merely shift his weight nervously and worry the bit until foam dropped upon the ground.  Sherlock continued to stroke the horse's neck and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on John, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger and John, happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, was the first to recover and made a slight bow -- a salutation which Mr. Holmes did not deign to return.  The black gelding tossed his head again, then decided to shy at the gentleman in red and half reared and Sherlock was forced to jog him a little around the square to relieve his nerves.  What could be the meaning of this odd exchange?  John wondered. It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.  
  
In another minute Mr. Trevor, without seeming to have noticed what had passed between his friend and Mr. Wickham, wished Jane a pleasant afternoon, took his leave and rode on with his friend.

*.*.*


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which---John is hunted by a Tiger, Anderson fails to dance and Sherlock teaches a waltz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing.

Mr. Denny walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips's house and Wickham walked close behind John which made him feel rather uncomfortable as he sensed rather than saw Wickham admiring his movements.  John, being unused to being the subject of anyone's Interest, did not know how he should react to this and so was determined to ignore it, which he did unsuccessfully though he was able to outwardly convey ignorance of Mr. Wickham's attentions and thus was able to keep his dignity if not his ease.  Then Denny and Wickham made their bows, in spite of Lydia's pressing entreaties that they would come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Philips' throwing up the parlour window and loudly seconding the invitation.  
  
Mrs. Philips was always glad to see them all and Jane and John, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Anderson by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologizing for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to by exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew. She had been watching Wickham for the last hour as he walked up and down the street and had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have happily continued the occupation, but unluckily no one passed the windows now except a few of the officers, who in comparison with the stranger, were become in their eyes "stupid, disagreeable fellows." Some of the officers were to dine with the Philipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips protested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Anderson repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying civility by Mrs. Philips that they were perfectly needless.

*.*.*

  
As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Anderson's scruples of leaving Mrs. Watson for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted by her, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and Kitty and Lydia had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in the house.  When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr. Anderson was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he was moved to declare to Mrs. Philips,  
  
"What a charming room you have here, so tastefully furnished, so exquisitely decorated that upon my word, I might almost have supposed myself in the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings."  
  
This was the highest compliment Mr. Anderson could think to bestow not imagining that such a comparison might not at first convey much gratification to the hearer.  
  
"Does it indeed Sir," remarked Mrs. Philips coldly, "Well---I'm much obliged I'm sure."  She sniffed and opened her fan with an irritated snap of her wrist.  
  
John, smiled with faint politeness, pained at the insult to his aunt, however accidental it might be.  Jane was more clever in her response,  
  
"Rosings Park, we are given to understand is very Grand indeed. I'm sure Mr. Anderson meant to pay a compliment." She said gently to their aunt, assuaging her injured feelings with a grace that only Jane could possess.  
  
"Does he, I see" said Mrs. Phillips fanning herself in such a way that conveyed that she was not yet ready to forgive Mr. Anderson's tactless remark.  
  
"Oh indeed it is!" said Anderson with eagerness, then noticing the stiffness of Mrs. Philips's expression he moved onto the subject that was always dearest to his heart, "Oh if you felt any slight from that remark then I am mortified---Rosings Park is the residence of my Noble Patroness—Lady Catherine de Bourg" he uttered the name as if intoning the name of a Saint.  "Why the chimney piece in the second drawing room alone---cost eight hundred pounds" he finished expressively.  
  
Mrs. Philips had a weakness for luxury and when she realized that Anderson was comparing her home to one of the grandest mansions in England, she felt all the force of the compliment and would hardly have resented another compliment from Anderson had he compared her parlor to the housekeeper's room in Rosings Park.  She closed her fan.  
  
"Oh now I understand" she said smugly, and if she was charmed by Anderson's manner of compliment then she was the first that ever was.  She snaked an arm through Anderson's arm and said "Won't you oblige me by engaging in a game of whist?"  She began to steer him towards the card tables.  
  
"I must confess I know little of the game" said Anderson, charmed by Mrs. Philips attentions, "But I shall be glad to improve myself, that is if my Fair Cousin would consent to release me." He simpered at Jane.  
  
"With all my heart Sir" said Jane smiling very sincerely and not without a little relief to be rid of him.  
  
Mrs. Phillips relieved them all of Mr. Anderson's company for the rest of the evening as he found in her a very attentive listener, one who was delighted to hear him describe to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode and the improvements it was receiving and with each word Mrs. Phillips opinion of his consequence increased and she resolved to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could.  
  
At last the officers did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, John felt that he had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. If anything, Wickham had grown more handsome since their first meeting and looked especially fine now that his red coat had been pressed and its buttons and his boots polished to a high gloss.  The officers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, in countenance, in his air, and walk, as They were superior to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed the officers into the room.  
  
Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, but his eyes seemed always turned towards John, who while flattered by the idea of being the recipient of such attentions, did not dare trust what the flutter in his stomach was telling him---that he above all others in the room had caught Mr. Wickham's fancy.   Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between John and Lydia, both of which had also declined to play, John because he always had ill luck at cards and Lydia, because she could never keep the suits straight in her empty head. At first, there seemed a danger of Lydia's engrossing Wickham entirely for she was a most determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes and too eager to have attention paid to her then to fix her attention on anyone in particular. Seeing his opportunity to remove Lydia from Wickham's company, Denny persuaded her to join his table where Kitty and her current Favorite were already seated.  Wickham had no objections whatsoever in seeing her join in the game so he allowed Denny his triumph.  Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to John and John was very willing to hear him,  
  
"I must confess," said Wickham, leaning into John's neck speaking low and teasingly, "I thought I should never escape your younger sisters."  
  
John burst out laughing at this, partially at the cheekiness of the remark and partially out of nervousness for Wickham's warm breath had caused the hairs on his neck to stand up in a delicious sort of tingling discomfort.  Wickham grinned like a Cheshire cat and sat back in his chair.  
  
"Yes, they are quite Determined," admitted John ruefully, brushing the hair down on his neck to force it to lie flat, "Lydia especially."  He sighed, a paternal sigh.  
  
"Oh they are pleasant girls," said Wickham smoothly, "Indeed, I find that the company in Hartford quite exceeds my expectations."  
  
John was not entirely sure if that was a slight against his neighbours or not and wondered if he should take offense but then Wickham flashed him That smile again and John noticed that Wickham's eyes had turned the colour of dark honey, warm and dripping off the spoon---and he forgot to be insulted.  
  
"I don't see Mr. Trevor," said Wickham casually, "Or his Friend here this evening."  
  
"I think Some of Mr. Trevor's friends would consider it beneath their Dignity" said John with an annoyed half-smile.  His visit to Neitherfield Park had ended on a most unsatisfactory note what with a quarrel with one Holmes brother and a most embarrassing conversation with the other and John did not care to remember either.  
  
"Really" said Wickham, a sort of watchful quiet settled around him.  An Angel passed by.  John got the most wonderful, awful impression that Wickham was studying him.  
  
"Do you----" began Wickham in intimate tone, then he paused, smiled a little and seemed to choose his words with care, unconsciously scanning over his shoulder for eavesdroppers before he said lightly "Have you known Mr. Sherlock Holmes long?"  
  
"Only about a month," said John; and added, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."  
  
"Yes," replied Wickham, for whatever reason John's answer appeared to please him, "his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself -- for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."  
  
John could not but look surprised.  Noting John's expression, Wickham nodded seriously,  
  
"You may well be surprised, Sir, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. And yet we played together as children."  Wickham gave a regretful sigh.  
  
"I confess I am astonished---and I did note it.  I did not dream that you had known each other since childhood" said John.  Wickham's pained sincerity at relating such personal information touched his heart.  For Wickham's part, John's response seemed to be exactly as he wished for smiled and leaned in closer,  
  
"Are you---" he paused and then said Meaningfully, "Much---acquainted with Mr. Holmes?"  
  
John was not so innocent as to not understand the Implication behind the question and moved to reassure Wickham that his suppositions were false.  
  
"As much as I ever wish to be," cried John warmly, -- "I have spent three days in the same house with him, and I think him Very Disagreeable."  
  
John's words seemed to please Wickham a great deal for he relaxed in his chair and that easy smile John had seen just yesterday in Meryton when Mr. Wickham had appraised his appearance, returned.  Wickham's eyes turned a languid shade of liquid gold.  
  
"I have no right to give My opinion," said Wickham amiably, "as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for Me to be impartial. But I believe Your opinion of him would in general astonish -- and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. -- Here you are in your own family."  
  
"Upon my word I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield." Said John stoutly and seeing in Wickham's gold eyes a rallying glance he added, "He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his Pride. You will not find him more favorably spoken of by anyone."  
  
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham with a grin, his teeth were very white, "that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with Him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen."  
  
"I should take him, even on My slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man" said John hotly.  
  
Wickham only shook his head with apparent sympathy towards Mr. Sherlock Holmes as if it saddened him greatly to hear his former Friend being spoken of in such a way.  
  
"I wonder," said he with idle curiosity, "whether he is likely to be in this country much longer."  
  
"I do not at all know" frowned John, "But I Heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans to stay not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood." He finished anxiously.  
  
"Oh no," said Wickham pouring his warm honey smile on John, quite openly pleased by his concern, "It is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Holmes. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, my dear Watson, the late Mr. Holmes, was my Godfather and one of the best men that ever breathed, the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with this Mr. Holmes without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behavior to myself has been scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father."  
  
John's chest jumped the words "My dear Watson" though it was overly Familiar and improper after so short an acquaintance and found his interest in the subject increase, and listened with all his heart; but the delicacy of the topic prevented farther inquiry as to the particulars the separation.  Such inquiries proved unnecessary for Wickham seemed strangely eager to supply the details,  
  
"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added, "which was my chief inducement to enter the ----shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession -- I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."  Wickham sounded regretful.  
  
"Indeed!"  John was shocked.  Mr. Wickham had been denied by Holmes a place in the church?  thought he.  "I had not thought him as bad as all that" he could not help but exclaim in his dismay.  
  
"Yes -- the late Mr. Holmes bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given Elsewhere."  
  
"Good heavens!" cried John in alarm; "but how could that be? -- How could his will be disregarded? -- Why did not you seek legal redress?"  
  
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Holmes chose to doubt it -- or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short anything or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me." Wickham said simply.  
  
"This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly disgraced." Said John, outraged.  
  
"Some time or other he will be" smiled Wickham reasuringly, "But it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."  
John honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.  
  
"But what," said he after a pause, "can have been his motive? -- what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?" John frowned thoughtfully.    
  
"A thorough, determined dislike of me -- a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to Jealousy" said Wickham with an engaging sort of earnestness, "Had the late Mr. Holmes liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood -- the sort of preference which was often given me."  
  
"I had not thought Mr. Holmes so bad as this" said John, "Though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him -- I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!"  
  
After a few minutes reflection, however, John continued sympathetically, "I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful."  
  
"I will not trust myself on the subject," smiled Wickham looking not at all displeased at John's concern, "I can hardly be just to him."  
  
John was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To treat in such a manner, the godson, the friend, the favorite of his father!" And then he added, "A young man too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable  and one, too, who had probably been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!"  
  
"We were born in the same parish, within the same park, the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care."  
  
Agreed Wickham and it was said with such a winning sensitivity that John's heart swelled in his direction.    
  
"My father began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Philips, appears to do so much credit to -- but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Holmes, and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Holmes, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Holmes often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendence and when immediately before my father's death, Mr. Holmes gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him, as of affection to myself."  
  
"How strange!" cried John, "How abominable! -- I wonder that the very Pride of this Mr. Holmes has not made him just to you! -- If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest, -- for dishonesty I must call it."  
  
"It is wonderful," -- replied Wickham, his smile of pleasure saying he was not all offended by John's words, -- "for almost all his actions may be traced to Pride; -- and Pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent; and in his behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than Pride."  
  
"Can such abominable Pride as his, have ever done him good?" Frowned John.  
  
"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, -- to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and Filial pride, for he is very proud of what his father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also Brotherly pride, which with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister; and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers."  
  
"What sort of a girl is Miss Holmes?"  
  
Wickham shook his head with a regretful sigh. -- "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Holmes. But she is too much like her brother, -- very, very Proud. -- As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education."  
  
After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, John could not help reverting once more to the first, and saying,  
  
"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Trevor! How can Mr. Trevor, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? -- Do you know Mr. Trevor?"  
  
"Not at all." replied Wickham with an easy grace.  
  
"He is a sweet tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Holmes is" said John in Trevor's defense.  
  
"Probably not;" said Wickham gently, "-- but Mr. Holmes can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His Pride never deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable, -- allowing something for fortune and figure."  
  
The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round the other table, and Mr. Anderson took his station between his cousin John and Mrs. Philips. -- The usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point; but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.  
  
"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chance of these things, -- and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters."  
  
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Anderson for a few moments, he asked John in a low voice whether her relation were very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.  
  
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," John replied, "has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Anderson was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."  
  
"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Holmes were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the brothers Mr. Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes." Wickham smiled a conspiratorial smile.  
  
"No, indeed, I did not. -- I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday" John shook his seriously.  
  
"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin, Mr. Sherlock Holmes will unite the two estates."  
This information made John smile, as he thought of inbred, invalid Miss de Bourgh married to the Proud Mr. Shelock Holmes.  
  
"Mr. Anderson," said he, "speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman."  
  
"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham chuckling a little; "I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the Pride of her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the First Class."  
  
John allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper put an end to cards; and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to every body. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully. John went away with his head full of Wickham. He could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told his, all the way home; but there was not time for him even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Anderson were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had won, and Mr. Anderson, in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

*.*.*

  
  
John related to Jane the next day, what had passed between Mr. Wickham and himself in their conversation at the Phillipses.   Jane listened with astonishment;  
  
"I know not how to believe that Mr. Holmes could be so unworthy of Mr. Trevor's regard," said Jane with concern, "And yet, it is difficult to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham---They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side."  
  
"Very true, indeed;" smiled John with fond amusement at Jane's refusal to believe ill of anyone, but it made feel a touch impatient that she did not immediately support his opinions so he added teasingly, " -- and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? -- Do clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."  
  
"Laugh as much as you choose," replied Jane primly, becoming stubborn and intractable at her brother's mocking of her, "But you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest John, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Holmes---to be treating his father's favorite in such a manner, -- one, whom his father had promised to provide for. – No, it is impossible---No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? oh! No."  She gave her pretty head a little shake, a frown clouding her white brow.  John's impatience with her naiveté increased and he felt obliged to defend his opinions,  
  
"I can much more easily believe Mr. Trevor's being imposed on," said John, "Than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony."  He saw that Jane looked skeptical, so he added in an annoyed tone, "If it be not so, then let Mr. Holmes contradict it. ---Besides---there was truth in his looks."  He finished with a huff.  
  
"It is difficult indeed," said Jane nodding, "Oh it is distressing! -- One does not know what to think."  
  
"I beg your pardon;" said John irritably, "One knows Exactly ---what to think."  
  
"I think we can only say think with certainty on one point," she said diplomatically, "that Mr. Trevor, if he has been imposed on, will have much to suffer should the affair become public."  
  
"There is no fear of that I think," said John, moving to reassure her, "Mr. Wickham is of such generosity of spirit that he does not want his troubles widely known.  Your Mr. Trevor is safe from scandal."    
  
Jane smiled a little and the two siblings were summoned from the shrubbery where this conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Trevor had come to give his personal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday.  The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Watson chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Trevor himself, instead of a ceremonious card; Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of Mr. Trevor; and John thought with pleasure of Mr. Wickham's tiger-gold eyes, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Holmes's looks and behavior. For once, the idea of a ball did not distress him.  The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia, depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they each meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.  
  
"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she primly, "it is enough. -- I think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody."  
  
John's spirits were so high on the occasion that, though he did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Anderson, he could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Trevor's invitation,  
  
"Do you think it proper Sir, to join in the evening's amusement?"  He gave Jane a mischievous look, his natural high spirits had returned, all thoughts of Mr. Wickham's Troubles and Mr. Holmes's part in them, forgot.  
  
Mr. Anderson smiled at John and perhaps it was merely that such an expression did not wear well on him, but John felt most uncomfortable at being the recipient if it,  
  
"Oh yes Dear Cousin, I entertain no scruple whatever on that head, and am very far from dreading a rebuke either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance. I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Jane, for the first dance especially."  
  
Jane felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being engaged by Trevor for that very dance: -- and to have Mr. Anderson instead!  John's liveliness had been never worse timed and she gave him a Look to which he could only reply with an apologetic smile. There was no help for it however. Mr. Trevor's happiness and her own was perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr. Anderson's proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. -- It now first struck her that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as Jane observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the posibility of their marriage was exceedingly agreeable to her.  Jane, however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Anderson might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.

*.*.*

  
'Till  John entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to him. The certainty of meeting Mr. Wickham had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed him.   John had dressed with more than usual care and prepared, in the highest spirits, for Wickham to make the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart---trusting that it was not more than might be properly won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of Wickham's being purposely omitted for Mr. Holmes's pleasure in Trevor's invitation to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile,  
  
"I was told to convey his Particular regrets for his absence to you Sir, though I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a Certain gentleman here."  
  
This part of his intelligence assured John that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was not less answerable for Wickham's absence and that his first surmise had been just and every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that  John could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make. -- Attention, forbearance, even patience with Sherlock Holmes, felt to John like an injury to Wickham.   Therefore, John was resolved against any sort of conversation with Mr. Sherlock Holmes and turned away with a degree of ill humour, which he could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Trevor, whose blind partiality provoked him.  
  
But John was not formed for ill-humour; and though every pleasure of his own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on his spirits; and having told all his griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom he had not seen for a week, he was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of his cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The first dance however, brought a return of distress for it was a dance of mortification.  
  
Jane had promised, against her will, to dance the first dance with Mr. Anderson and she implored John with her looks Not to leave her adrift with him.  John, feeling guilty at being partially responsible for the awkwardness of her situation, felt obligated to endure being a part of their set and looked about for a partner but found that Kitty and Lydia were already engaged with Denny and another officer and that left only Mary who stood at John's elbow and looked at him and then at Mr. Anderson with such hope on her wan, sallow face, that John gave a great sigh and offered his arm to his sister and resigned himself to the dance.  It began ordinarily enough but Mr. Anderson, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving incorrectly without being aware of it, soon made it all go very wrong.    
  
John had to remind Mr. Anderson, frequently, that his Right was different from his Left and even with such helpful instruction Mr. Anderson still managed to bump into and step on his partners to his left and to his right, kicking Jane several times in her delicate ankles and all but upsetting the order of the dancers.  John fancied he saw Mr. Holmes watching him and worse, that he was smiling with amusement, laughing up his sleeve and his cheeks pinkened at the idea that Mr. Anderson was exposing John and his family to ridicule.  John clinched his teeth and attended to the dance, determined not to give Mr. Holmes any further excuse to laugh at him.  
  
But this was not to be as at that very moment Mr. Anderson grabbed the hand of the Wrong partner! ----now instead of dancing with Jane in the circle of dancers he was dancing with John!  Jane flushed and looked distressed, Mary turned the color of sour milk, John happened to catch sight of Mr. Holmes who was now standing against wall with his brother, Mr. Mycroft Holmes and turned red to the roots of his golden hair.  Mr. Holmes, the Elder was darting glances between the unhappy John and his brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and looked, if possible, even more smug than when he had playing at cards with Mr. Trevor some weeks prior during Jane's illness.  Even worse, John saw him lean into Sherlock and whisper something which caused Him to laugh, quietly, genteelly of course but John felt the humiliation of it all the same.  Mr. Sherlock Holmes, so Proud, had denied him the company of Wickham and was now laughing at John's misfortune of Anderson.  It was an injury hardly to be born.  John quickly corrected Mr. Anderson's error when the circle separated into pairs again and all but walked Anderson through the remainder of the dance.  Somehow they all survived without further embarrassment from their cousin.     
When the dance was over he returned directly to Charlotte Lucas, and with whom he had the pleasure of relating to her all of Mr. Wickham's troubles and how shocking it was that Mr. Holmes should be the source of them.    
  
"But we do not know the particulars," was Charlotte's prudent reply, "It may not be what it appears.  After all, your acquaintance with both gentlemen has been but a short one."  
  
"Charlotte how can you say so!" cried John, annoyed that she did immediately support his opinions, "His story has all the appearance of Truth in it, Mr. Holmes has used him most abominably I am sure of it!  Why Mr. Holmes is the most disagreeable man I have ever met!" Said he still feeling the sting of Mr. Holmes's laughter.  
  
It is an unlucky thing, that whenever we say things we do not wish others to overhear, that, that is precisely the moment in which the musicians decide to rest and so John's voice carried much further than he intended and naturally, it was precisely at this moment, that Mr. Holmes chose to pass by.  Although, he gave no outward sign of having overheard the insult to his person, he did leave the room abruptly and John was left to fret over his own want of presence of mind; Charlotte tried to advise him.  
  
"Go and apologize, quickly!  If you go now you may minimize the damage that has been done."  
  
"Apologize?  No, he would never hear it, Mr.  Sherlock Holmes is too Proud to accept apologies." Grumbled John, kicking himself for not being more discreet.  
  
Charlotte smiled knowingly.    
  
"If the apology is coming from You---then, I dare say, you will find him Very agreeable to hear it ---and you may find that he Improves with greater acquaintance."  
  
"Heaven forbid!" said John with irritation, "That would be the greatest misfortune of all! -- To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! -- Do not wish me such an evil."  
  
Charlotte only laughed at this, and her eyes danced with things she knew but would not tell.    
  
"Now do not be a simpleton John," she said with a sisterly affection, "Don't allow your fancy for Mr. Wickham to make you appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence."  
  
"In wealth perhaps, but not in consequence" replied John tartly.  
  
Charlotte smiled at his annoyance and at her urging, John agreed that some kind of reconciliation must occur and he left the room in the direction that Mr. Holmes had departed.    
  
Neitherfield was a maze of rooms and hallways and twice John found himself passing by the same statue of St. Sebastian, who looked the way he always did, beautiful, sad and stuck full of arrows.  He might have found himself to be completely lost had not the click of billiard balls attracted his attention to one of the doors.  Seeing as the door was ajar, he deduced that Mr. Holmes had found a refuge in the library and he slowly opened the door lest it creak and announce his presence.  He was not sure what sort of mood Mr. Holmes was in and frankly, he felt a little trepidation.  The balls cracked and one of them rumbled into a pocket as Mr. Holmes made an expert shot, he then took a cigarette from the ashtray perched on the side and drew and released a long stream of smoke which rose to float ghostly among the table lamps.  It was then that he noticed John loitering by the door.  Mr. Holmes stiffened and after a moment's pause, made a short polite bow.  He said nothing however, and leaned over to deliver the next shot.  It too, hit its mark and John could not help but be impressed, having very little skill at the game himself.    
They stood for some time without speaking a word; and John was at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to Mr. Holmes to oblige him to talk, he made some slight observation on the game. Mr. Holmes replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, John addressed him a second time with:  
  
"I should like to offer you my apologies."    
  
It was a statement he was loathe to make and yet it must be done.  He awaited Mr. Holmes's reply.  Mr. Holmes registered nothing on his face, but simply exhaled a thin stream of smoke, replaced his cigarette in the ash tray and bent over for another shot.  John could not help but admire how well Mr. Holmes filled the seat of his trousers---and he ground his teeth and hated himself for it.  
  
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Holmes." Said John, "I offered my apologies and you may accept them or not as you choose."  
  
Mr. Holmes's eyes narrowed as he lined up his shot, John passed an anxious moment, quietly fuming that he should have spoken so rashly so audibly---and for Mr. Holmes for making him wait.  
  
"It is not within my understanding Sir, to know what you may be apologizing for" he said coolly, and the billiard balls snapped as another excellent shot hit a pocket.  Mr. Holmes slowly straightened and stretched out his long thin fingers for the cigarette.  
  
"Very well," said John with annoyed civility, "Then it was my mistake to trouble your solitude---now we may be silent."  
  
And John moved to depart the room when Mr. Holmes said casually,  
  
"Do you play at billiards Dr. Watson?"  
  
"I admit I have little skill at the game" replied John.  
  
Mr. Holmes exhaled a cloud of smoke, followed by a smoke ring---which floated lazily in the air.    
  
"It requires at least two players---perhaps you might be troubled to engage in a game?"  said Mr. Holmes in a manner that suggested that he did much care if John accepted the invitation or not.    
  
John, feeling guilty at having been overheard by Mr. Holmes, despite his pretended ignorance, accepted and with little enjoyment, he selected a cue while Mr. Holmes arranged the table.  Mr. Holmes broke and they played for several minutes without speaking.  John, indeed, had very little skill at the game as he had never had an opportunity to practice, save at the residence of Miss Charlotte Lucas, where occasionally, Lord Lucas, the only gentleman in town to keep a snooker table, would engage him as a partner.  His little skill was compounded by his flustered nerves as he was sure that Mr. Holmes had indeed heard his insult and was only feigning ignorance out of Pride.  As a result, his game went quickly to pieces and he began to speak nervously,  
  
"Private balls are much pleasanter than public ones" John blurted, "Though I confess I have never had much interest in either."  
  
Mr. Holmes said nothing but completed his shot.  
  
"I'm afraid my sister Lydia did talk Mr. Trevor into giving this one" John continued nervously, "Though he is so amiable a gentleman he does not seem to mind."  
  
"Do you talk as a rule, while you are playing?" said Mr. Holmes, his eyes narrowing through the cigarette smoke, but John could not tell if it was curiosity or displeasure.  Either way, he felt defensive and replied,  
  
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."  
  
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?" said Mr. Holmes, releasing a long stream of scented smoke into the air in a slow and lazy curl.  
  
"Both," replied John archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. -- We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb."  
  
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," said Holmes. "How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. -- You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."  
  
Was Mr. Holmes offended?  It was impossible to tell but John moved to soften his words a little regardless,  
  
"I must not decide on my own performance."    
  
Mr. Holmes made no answer, and they were again silent and exchanged shots for several minutes,  
  
"You and your sisters very often walk to Meryton---do you not."  Mr. Holmes said with casual unconcern but John suspected a motive behind the question.  
  
"We do indeed," said John watching Mr. Holmes's expression carefully but got no satisfaction from his expression.  Unable to resist the temptation, he added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."  
  
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread Mr. Holmes's features, but he said not a word, and John, sensing a palpable hit, and though blaming himself for his own weakness for not immediately following with another, could not go on. At length Holmes spoke, and in a constrained manner said,  
  
"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his Making friends -- whether he may be equally capable of Retaining them---is less certain."  
  
"He has been so unlucky as to lose Your friendship," replied John with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."  
  
Holmes made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject.  
  
"What think you of books?" said he, smiling tightly.  
  
"Books -- Oh! no. -- I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings." Said John, suspecting a trap.  
  
"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. -- We may compare our different opinions."  
  
"No -- I cannot talk of books in a billard-room; my head is always full of something else."  
  
"The present always occupies you in such scenes -- does it?" said he, with a look of doubt.  
  
"Yes, always," John replied, without knowing what he said, for his thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by him suddenly exclaiming,  
  
"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Holmes, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."  
  
"I am," said Holmes with a firm voice.  
  
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by Prejudice?" asked John skeptically.  
  
"I hope not." Said Mr. Holmes with a shake of his head.  
  
"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first." Said John, baiting him.  
  
"May I ask to what these questions tend?" asked Mr. Holmes impatiently.  
  
"Merely to the illustration of your character," said John, endeavouring to shake off his gravity. "I am trying to make it out."  
  
"And what is your success?" asked Mr. Holmes with a touch of curiosity.  
  
John shook his head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."  
  
"I can readily believe," answered Holmes gravely, "that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Sir, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit  
on either."  
  
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity." Teased John.  
  
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied and while John lined up his shot, turned to a phonograph to place the needle upon the wax disc.  The sudden sound of an orchestra quite discombobulated John and caused his shot to go wild, spoiling it entirely.  
  
"Come," sighed Mr. Holmes, "Your grasp of the cue is all wrong and has been throwing off the game."  He replaced the ball to its previous position.    
  
"Let me show you," said Holmes.  
  
"That is hardly necessary," said John, he knew that he was playing very ill but privately, he wondered if the poorly timed phonograph had not been premeditated---not that Mr. Holmes was in any danger of losing the game.  
  
"It's very simple," said Mr. Holmes, demonstrating "Simply line up the cue like this and think about where you want the ball to go."  
  
Simple for You perhaps, thought John but obediently imitated Mr. Holmes's actions.  
  
"No, not at all, like This,"  Mr. Holmes leaned over John and grasped his cue, and as he did so his hips brushed the back of John's trousers which gave John the sensation of an electric shock and he immediately brushed Mr. Holmes off with haste.  
  
"You have won the game I'm sure," said John hurriedly, "There is no need to finish."  
  
Mr. Holmes looked at him.  Then he gave a little shrug and replaced the cues in their holders upon the wall.  The phonograph continued to play a lively tune John had never heard before.  Mr. Holmes lit another cigarette and seemed to regard John for a moment---but what his thoughts might be, John could not say.  Mr. Holmes seemed to be studying him.  The silence made John feel increasingly uncomfortable so in an effort to fill it he said,  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Hmm?" Mr. Holmes raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
"The music, I have never heard it before, is it new?"  
  
Mr. Holmes blew a stream of smoke before replying.  
  
"I should think so, it's from Austria.  The composer is Strauss.  I do not think he is as yet well known here."  
  
"Strauss," nodded John, tasting the word in his mouth like a new dish.  
  
Mr. Holmes smiled a little at his confusion and added, "It's for dancing the waltz."  
  
"Ah," agreed John, then after a moment asked, "What's a waltz?"  
  
Mr. Holmes did smile this time and John, supposing he was mocking his naiveté, bristled inwardly a little.      
  
"It's a ballroom dance, quite different from your ---Country---dances." He said with a touch of disdain, adding  "It's quite fashionable in Paris."  
  
Mr. Holmes sucked a mouthful of smoke and watched John through narrowed eyes---then he released it.  
  
"Would you----like to try it?" he stubbed out his cigarette casually.  
  
John chuckled a little at this.  
  
"There are no ladies present so that would be quite impossible."  
  
"Not at all," said Holmes firmly, "I learnt it from a dancing master, I am certain I could teach you."  
  
"And how ridiculous we would look," smiled John.  
  
Holmes shrugged.  
  
"There is no one else present," said he, "I do not think we should cause a scandal."  
  
"If we were interrupted," said John teasingly, "People might talk."  
  
Holmes shrugged.  
  
"People do little else" Holmes replied unconcerned.  "But if you had rather not…" he trailed off with a motion of indifference.  
  
John smiled, he had half a mind to accept Mr. Holmes's offer---it appealed to his daring nature, particularly since Mr. Holmes seemed to think he would not.  
  
"Very well," smiled John, "Instruct me."  
  
"You will?"  
  
John was pleased to see that he had surprised Mr. Holmes.  
  
"Why not---it's from Paris you say?"  
  
"Yes" and for the first time since they had first made their acquaintance—John could see that Sherlock was pleased.  For some reason this pleased him as well and thoughts of Wickham and his irritation over Mr. Holmes's ill treatment of him, were momentarily forgotten.  
  
Mr. Holmes started the cylinder from the beginning.  
  
"It's very simple," he said earnestly, "It's a three beat in three quarter time."  
  
"That is all Greek to me," smiled John.  
  
"Just follow my lead," said Holmes and John thought he saw a hint of a smile.  
  
Mr. Holmes placed his hand in John's hand---and the other he placed on John's waist and suddenly John found himself in Mr. Holmes's arms.  
  
"Is this the usual postion?" asked John nervously, "To be touching so?"  
  
Mr. Holmes smiled.  
  
"It is an intimate dance that requires the Leader to touch his partner---I assure you this is the proper beginning position."  
  
"If you say so" said John, not entirely convinced.  
  
"And one-two-three, one-two-three-one…" said Holmes and John found himself stumbling in time to the music.  He did his best to follow but found himself too nervous to anticipate  
Mr. Holmes's movements who danced with both an insistent sort of authority and a superior confidence and grace.  John, distracted, trod on his foot.  
  
"You're not counting," said Holmes irritably, "Let me hear you count."  
  
"One-two-three, one-two-three, one…" said John, feeling the fool.    
  
Admittedly it did help.  
  
"Now relax," commanded Holmes, "It's supposed to be a dance not a military march."  
  
"One-two-three, one-two-three, one," said John through gritted teeth, too busy counting to give a smart retort.  
  
They danced for a moment, John counting and Sherlock leading when John found himself spinning around in Sherlock's arms and once again, he trod on Holmes's toe. Mr. Holmes grunted in annoyance.  
  
"I'm growing dizzy," protested John in his own defense.  
  
"Then stare at my cravat" instructed Holmes.  
  
John did so and his dizziness subsided.  The music began to speed up and inwardly John groaned.  He had only just mastered the basic steps.  
  
"One-two-three, one-two-three, one…" John counted and Sherlock raised his arm and John found himself looking into Mr. Holmes's eyes.  

 

  
[The Waltz](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/art/The-Waltz-334609401) by ~[Sirbestonen](http://sirbestonen.deviantart.com/)  


[On tumblr](http://lordlamebrain.tumblr.com/tagged/pride-and-prejudice-and-sherlock)

 

They gazed at eachother through the window of their raised arms.  John forgot to count.  Had Mr. Holmes's eyes always been so blue?  How could have he not remembered.  Sherlock pulled John close to his chest and John---found that he made no protest in the slightest.  They turned slowly around, John found himself falling into Sherlock's dark blue eyes, he shivered.  He felt as he did when he met Mr. Holmes's gaze their first meeting at Meryton.  Electric, penetrating, dark, blue.  The music had stopped.  They had stopped.  A kiss lingered in the air.  In another moment---John would press his mouth to Sherlock's, hungry, searching, wanting---he would loosen Sherlock's cravat to kiss his white throat, the back of his neck, the soft vulnerable hollow of the base of his throat.  John could Have him here, now----No one would know.  The musicians were playing loudly, the guests were distracted.  His fingers would work the pearl buttons, stiff in their excitement, to reveal a white chest, pale as marble, smooth as oiled silk.  Sherlock would not protest, John saw that his mouth was soft with the anticipation of It.  And then----NO---the word ricocheted through his brain.  He all but threw Sherlock away from him, John shook his head like a horse throwing off flies. Without a word or a glance, John turned and left the room.  And what Mr. Holmes reaction was he neither knew nor cared.  John escaped to the safety of the ballroom.

*.*.*


End file.
